


Thank The Moon For Our Spotlight

by stylinhome



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: AU, M/M, Swag, camp fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-29
Updated: 2014-05-29
Packaged: 2018-01-26 21:22:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 4
Words: 82,680
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1702985
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stylinhome/pseuds/stylinhome
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>From the time he nearly had a heart attack over a strand of seaweed to the time he was caught off-guard mid blowjob by a woodland creature to the time he drunkenly dedicated his sole purpose in life to a leaf, he always seems to make a fool of himself and Louis always doesn’t seem to care.</p><p>Harry thinks that’s what makes Louis so special. </p><p>A camp fic where Harry isn’t expecting to enjoy himself, and Louis just wants to have fun, and Harry’s a bit too shy and Louis’ a bit too comfortable, but somehow it works, anyway.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. part one

**Author's Note:**

> thank you to emma for proofreading. thank u to self for wasting 1.5 years writing this. i hope u enjoy xx
> 
> [this is split into parts just to make it easier to read but there's no rhyme or reason to the sections, they aren't chapters or anything]
> 
> disclaimer: this obviously didnt happen and i have no affiliations with anyone mentioned. title belongs to a cursive memory - a different kind of love

Harry thinks the idea is absolutely ridiculous.

He's sixteen, not ten, and the thought of spending the summer at camp rather than at home with his friends -- entire house to himself while his parents go on a heavily extended second honeymoon -- is probably the silliest thing he's ever heard. He'd rather be creating a permanent indent on the sofa with the air conditioner cranked up in an empty house, inviting his friends over and ordering pizza every night; maybe throw a few parties here and there, which isn’t typically his scene but he’s not opposed to giving it a try. This is his idea of the perfect summer and he's looking forward to it -- really.

That is until he gets home one day and his parents explain to him the arrangement that will be taking place; he'll be leaving the second week of June -- the same week his parents leave for their trip, and returning the third week of August -- a week after they return.

He thinks it's pretty shit because this leaves him literally no time alone with a parentless house and that's exactly what he'd been basing his summer plans around for the last few weeks. He also thinks it's fucking ridiculous because he's sixteen and sixteen year olds don't go to camp; at least he doesn't think so. He doesn't need a baby sitter; thinks he's very much capable of looking after himself, thank you very much, but his parents don't seem to think so and despite how much he tries to dispute their claims, he simply cannot win.

"Can't I just stay with a friend or something?" he tries one day soon before he's set to leave, whining desperately as he tries to convince his mother standing in front of a sink of dishes.

"A bit of the outdoors will be good for ya, love! Can't have you spend your entire break playing those video games and staring at the walls. And besides, you always hang around with those same boys. It'll be good to meet some new friends."

The part that peeves Harry off the most is that she doesn't even seem like she's considering looking at his side of it at all; her mind is made up and no matter what he argues, well...he's going to summer camp.

And he finally accepts his fate the night before he leaves as he's shoving some clothes into his backpack unenthusiastically, huffing and puffing and groaning because this really isn't at all how he wants to spend his summer. He imagines how his friends will be spending their time; playing football at the park and hanging round each others houses and going to parties -- as most kids his age do.

But not him, evidently.

He doesn't even tell his friends where he's going; he'd surely never live it down if he did, so rather he just says he's going away on holiday for the majority of the summer and most of his friends are slightly jealous because they'll just be stuck in their quiet little hometown doing the same things everyday and every night.

Maybe summer camp isn’t actually that bad of a way to spend a summer; if anything it's an experience, he tries to tell himself -- though at this point he'll tell himself nearly anything to make this situation seem better. It's just so not his _scene._

He's not someone who likes organization and group work and projects; he's a sixteen year old boy and he wants to spend his summer being lazy and playing sports however and with whomever he pleases, and he certainly won't be going on any nature hikes if he has any say in the matter.

Unfortunately, it doesn't really seem like he will.

The ride there is mostly silent between he and his step dad as he still holds some unresolved resentment about them sending him to this hellhole in the first place but despite this, when the car finally stops, Harry doesn't want to get out. "Can't I just stay home? I'll be good, promise," he tries one last ditch effort but his step dad doesn't humor him for even a moment.

"Have a good summer, Harry," he chuckles warmly, reaching over to ruffle Harry's curls. Harry just lets out an agitated sigh and mumbles a "have a good holiday" before opening the car door and stepping onto the ground underneath him, sneakers kicking a cloud of dust from the dirt to surround his shins. He lets out an exasperated breath as he glances around to be greeted by dirt, rocks, trees, grass and more dirt. With a roll of his eyes and a mental note of 'I can't believe they're actually making me stay here', he retrieves his bags from the backseat and makes his way under the wood carved arches and into his temporary home for the next few weeks.

It's sort of like he expected, if he's honest; just like it is in the cheesy nineties films he watched growing up. He wanders up to the registration desk; there are groups of kids littered around, either new cliques forming or reunions from last year but mostly everyone is just filing into the door which has the words 'mess hall' hung on a sign above it.

"Harry Styles?" Harry mumbles awkwardly, perching his hand on the edge of the desk, unsure of how to the approach the young blond staring at him expectantly. She's older than him; maybe eighteen or nineteen, which would explain the 'camp counselor' embroidered above the pocket of her polo shirt. Her eyes glow up at Harry from under the rim of her khaki cap and she just smiles and nods as she begins running her pen down her list until she comes across Harry's name.

"You can go right inside," she points toward the mess hall with the tip of her pen, "That's where your room'll be assigned. Let me know if you need any help," she offers, and Harry just nods, with out any intention of actually confronting this girl again.

Harry feels maybe just a little awkward as he walks past the groups of kids surrounding him; some younger, some about his same age, simply because it already seems like they already all know each other and he literally doesn't know a single person here. It's not like he's ever had problems making friends before but maybe he's just a bit worried that there won't be anyone left for him to be friends with. Maybe he’s sort of the slightly more shy one of his group and usually he meets friends through friends. He’s not used to being on his own. Maybe he'll have to spend the entire summer making year four crafts and going on nature walks by himself.

He shrugs it off as he walks through the door; the room is roaring with laughter and dozens of different conversations going on at once by the kids sitting around at the cafeteria tables and Harry decides to take the first empty seat he finds. If he's honest with himself, not making friends is totally not the end of the world. He doesn't want to be here anyway and he really can't imagine anyone making this experience anymore enjoyable, so he isn't that bothered. He just wants to get it over with, whether it be alone or with someone else.

There's two other boys sitting at the opposite end of the table he's sat at. One of them, bright blond hair and mouth full of braces, glances at him, but is quick to turn back to his friend, and the other doesn't seem to notice. Harry was close to offering the blond boy a nod but instead he just rolls his eyes at the fact that he wasn’t given a chance and adverts his attention to the counselor standing on a table in the center of the mess hall, who's shouting for everyone's attention.

She’s rambling on about how they’re all going to have such a great summer together and Harry’s face actually screws up in confusion as he tries to decipher whether this girl is regularly as enthusiastic as she’s making herself out to be or if she’s just acting that way for the sake of her job. He only snaps back into reality when he hears names being called, so he listens and makes sure he doesn’t miss his.

It becomes incredibly boring because it seems as though the list is going in alphabetical order and with the last name Styles, and the fact that the girl is only in the F’s, he knows his name probably wont be called for a while. Harry notices that the blond boy at the end of his table stands when the girl calls ‘Niall Whore-” something-or-other; he’s too busy grinning and holding back an immature chuckle over the fact that the kid’s surname begins with ‘whore’ to hear the rest. She tells him his cabin number and off he goes, leaving his friend he was formerly sat across from alone.

Harry reaches into his pocket instinctively, as he always does when he’s bored, for his phone of course but it only takes him a second to remember that cell phones aren’t permitted here; another reason these next few weeks will be pure torture, so instead it’s at home hidden inside a sock and tucked under his mattress. He can’t risk his parents finding it and delving into his highly active teenage social life.

And by highly active teenage social life he mostly means gossiping over text message with his friends. But still.

Instead he begins to count the cracks in the cement floor. He figures he better get used to it because he has a feeling this is probably what he’s going to be spending a decent sized chunk of his time here doing.

Only a body is flung into his line of vision at the seat across the table from him, blocking the floor from his view. He shifts to look around this person who's rudely interrupted and made him lose count before realizing that someone has actually sat in front of him and perhaps he should maybe say hello, or at least acknowledge them, instead of craning his neck around them to stare at the ground.

It’s the boy from the other side of the table; the blond one’s friend, and Harry’s a little confused as to why he’s scooted down here before he smiles and offers an explanation. “I’m a T. ’ve got some time to kill.”

Harry smiles back. “S.”

His hair is dark and sideswept, framing his face and contrasting against his lightly summer sun tanned skin, eyes blue and bright and Harry has trouble taking his own eyes off of them for a moment but forces himself to in an effort to not appear an utter weirdo on the very first day.

“I’m Louis,” he offers, holding a hand out across the table.

Harry’s eyebrows go together a little as a grin grows on his face, and he shakes Louis’ hand, though he can’t say he’s ever really gotten an introduction like this from someone his age; usually just a ‘hi’ or a nod, but he thinks it’s funny. Louis seems quirky, if first impressions mean anything.

At least he knows someone else’s name now and he doesn’t feel entirely on his own.

“Right. We’re gonna have to work on that introduction, then. Doesn’t seem to be your strongest suit,” Louis decides with a curt nod.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Harry wonders, a hint of offense in his voice.

“Well I don’t mean any harm,” Louis explains. “It’s just that usually when somebody tells you their name, you’re supposed to tell them yours back.”

Harry mentally slaps himself upside the head for completely neglecting to do such, warmth creeping to his cheeks. “Sorry. It’s Harry.”

“Nice to meet you, Harry,” Louis offers.

“You too,” Harry mumbles, before noticing that the girl calling out names is on R already and his name should be coming up soon. Louis’ rambling on about something but Harry isn’t paying much attention and before he knows it, he hears his name being called, followed by “cabin thirteen”. He hasn’t the slightest idea where cabin thirteen is, but he figures he’ll find his way so he just glances back to Louis as he stands up, who offers a “see ya on the flip side” along with his grin, and Harry just nods as he makes way for the door.

He figures he could always ask the girl at the registration desk...she did offer after all. But he doesn’t wanna be _that_ kid. So he just walks rrrreeealllllyy slow. Hopes maybe he can follow the kid who gets called next. He’s standing just under the door frame though when he’s pleasantly surprised to discover that the next name to be called is none other than Louis Tomlinson, cabin thirteen. Harry glances back and smiles as he notices Louis rushing toward him and he thanks whoever’s up there for the fact that there are no S’s after Styles or T’s before Tomlinson to separate them, considering Louis is the only person here so far who’s got enough social skills to introduce himself. Harry doesn’t really think he’s one to speak and absently admires Louis’ seemingly smooth ability to talk to people he doesn’t even know. He wishes he could be more like that sometimes, that way maybe he wouldn’t be so nervous about making friends. Louis -- he seems like the kind of person you’d want to be friends with. Harry just happens to be lucky he was sat at the other end of the table when his friend got called.

He prematurely thinks that his dependence on Louis after knowing him barely five minutes may easily develop to an unhealthy level. He hopes not.

“Long time no see,” Louis beams as he claps a hand to Harry’s shoulder. “How are the kids?”

Harry just rolls his eyes. “Have you got any idea where cabin thirteen is?”

“Sure,” he nods, and Harry lets out a sigh of relief over the fact that he won’t have to wander around like an idiot looking for his cabin with no one to help him. “It’s right between cabin twelve and cabin fourteen.”

Harry’s face drops and Louis just smirks.

“I’m joking. Come on, it’s this way.” Louis grabs Harry’s arm and begins dragging him along toward one of the many rows of cabins strewn around. They seem to appear in random rows of five and six haphazardly planted around the campgrounds and Harry mentally thanks some greater power because with his luck, he’d never find cabin thirteen on his own.

“How d’you know?” Harry wonders aloud as they slow their pace in front of the current row.

“Cabin sixteen last year. Same section,” he explains as he changes direction toward the door of their new temporary home in cabin thirteen. “Home sweet home,” Louis lets out a pleasant nostalgic sigh as he pops the door open.

It smells of wood and musk. Harry’s unsure of this place before he’s even stepped in the door, and he’s weary to do so as well because with the way Louis’ run in, the floors sound quite creaky and he’s frightened he might just fall right through. The place certainly isn’t modern, that’s for sure.

He glances around but to be fair there’s not much to glance at. Everything’s made of wood. Harry’s not quite sure what he was expecting but, well...it just...wasn’t this.

He slowly let’s his backpack slide off of his shoulders and he drops it to the floor along with his suitcase by the doorframe -- something his mum always yells at him for at home so he’ll certainly take advantage of it here, and takes a few steps further into the room. There’s a set of bunk beds to his left, and on the wall across from the door where he’s standing, a desk and a bookshelf sit aside each other.

That’s it.

“It’s not exactly paradise,” Louis explains, and Harry’s waiting for a ‘but...’

But? There is none. But nothing. It’s not exactly paradise, and Harry doesn’t need Louis to tell him this. He can see it with his own two eyes well enough.

“I take it this is your first year here then?” he quickly adverts the subject, unable to talk the place up any because, well...it’s just...wood. There’s not much charming about it and he won’t pretend there is.

Harry nods. “How long have you been coming for?” he wonders, sliding onto the bottom bunk mattress. He wouldn’t be entirely surprised if he lifted the duvet to find that the mattress itself was made of wood too, because that’s certainly what it feels like.

“Since I was ten. Guess I’ll take the top then,” Louis tosses his bag onto the top bunk, smirking a bit as he continues. “I was gonna go meet up with my friends but I s’pose I wouldn’t really be minding my manners if I left you here on your own with out knowing anyone.”

Harry’s slightly taken aback by Louis’ forwardness, and the last thing he wants to come across as is a burden, so he’s quick to jump to his own defense. “No -- you...you go, I’ll just-”

“That was an invitation, silly,” Louis explains, reaching down to ruffle Harry’s curly hair, and Harry’s again left slightly confused by this... _enigma,_ that is Louis Tomlinson, who seems to have no sense of personal space or boundaries whatsoever and he decides that this summer will probably be interesting if nothing else. He certainly knows that Louis will at least take a bit of time getting used to. “Come on,” he declares, “I mean unless you planned on examining the woodgrain or something...there’s not really much else to do in here, if you hadn’t noticed.”

Harry grins, scrunching his nose a little as he nods. “Yeah I’ve noticed.”

Louis grins too, and next thing he’s opening the door to let the sunlight spill back in, the scent of the beginning of summer filling the air and Harry thinks _maybe_ it won’t be so bad. _Maybe_. It really depends on how strange Harry finds Louis to be in the next few weeks.

He’s introduced to Niall Whore-whatever first, because that’s the first friend that Louis stumbles upon, though he doesn’t really seem to recognize Harry from the end of the table -- he wouldn’t, considering he didn’t give Harry a chance to nod hello -- but whatever, he seems nice enough. He’s got an Irish accent which funnily enough, Harry’s only ever heard on TV so that’s fun, he guesses. If he gets anything out of this trip it’s that he’s at least heard an Irish accent in person.

He only feels slightly awkward as Niall and Louis chat and catch up, which leads Harry to believe that Niall’s probably been coming a while too, with the way they’re talking as if they’ve known each other ages, so he mostly just stays silent and glances around and is at least thankful that he’s not standing by himself in the midst of dozens of little groups scattered around the campgrounds.

They make some plans to play football or something tomorrow; Harry’s really stopped paying attention by this point, and he’s only snapped back into reality when there’s another friend pulling Louis into a hug and Louis introduces this friend as Liam.

He’s super polite and says “so nice to meet you” and Harry suddenly feels underdressed or something; he’s not really sure but whatever the case, Liam is eager to strike up a conversation and Harry’s thankful for that anyway because Louis’ gravitating toward another group and Harry would just feel ridiculously tag-a-long-y following Louis every step he takes.

“You’re in for a treat rooming with Louis,” Liam explains as they begin to wander along the cabins.

Harry’s not sure how to take this bit of information. “How so?”

“He’s a bit out there,” Liam explains casually. “He’s a good kid though. He’s fun.”

Harry nods slowly. He’s certainly been taking the hint that Louis’ a bit ‘out there’, as Liam puts it, and well, Harry kind of likes it if he’s honest. He’s funny and quirky and _different_ , most of all. He just hopes he’s not... _too_ out there. “You’ve known him a while then?”

Liam nods. “Yeah since we were twelve,” he explains. Harry nods too. He can’t help but feel slightly out of place considering everyone here has known each other ages but it’s not his fault that his parents so kindly decided to chuck him into summer camp at the inconvenient age of sixteen. He just feels out of the loop. “This is your first year, yeah?”

Harry nods again. “Yeah, parents made me come,” he mutters quietly with the overpowering urge to roll his eyes for the sixteenth time this morning.

Liam smiles. “You don’t seem too keen.”

Harry shrugs. “I’m sixteen.”

“It’s not so bad,” Liam tries to tell him. “Kind of fun really. I mean some parts,” he shrugs, and Harry chuckles. “The curfew kind of sucks and not being able to sleep in but it’s not so bad,” he reiterates.

Harry nods as they’re approached by friend seventeen that Harry still doesn’t know, and Liam and this character with dark hair and dark eyes practically catapult into each other’s arms as if they were under the impression that they’d never see each other again.

Zayn is his name, and he doesn’t really seem overly interested in meeting Harry so Harry just nods and purses his lips in a smirk as Zayn turns back to Liam and rambles on cooly and mentions something about going to find Louis.

Harry spends the rest of the afternoon being led around by Liam who takes him on a tour of the campgrounds; to the pool and the lake -- Liam tells Harry about this time when he and Louis captured Niall and tossed him in and upon floating to the surface hit his head on the bottom of a canoe, therefore their lake privileges were suspended that summer -- and the mess hall which he’s already familiar with and the football pitch and the volleyball court and the cafeteria; Louis joins back half way through when they’re at the rope swing by the lake and continues recounting stories from last summer and the summer before with Liam and even though Harry was very obviously not there, he still laughs along with them because they at least make it feel like he was there and it’s nice that they bother to include him in the first place, he decides.

He supposes he’s quite pleased and well, if he’s honest, it’s not _so_ bad. Today’s probably been more eventful than the next week would have been had he stayed home, so he -- well, he may just have to thank his parents when he gets home.

He won’t get ahead of himself; it is the first day after all and well, he really hasn’t actually _done_ anything yet. And, well, yeah, he begins to retract that statement when _curfew_ sets in and they’re told they have to be in their cabins by _nine_. _Nine_. He’s sixteen years old and they expect him to go to bed at _nine o’ clock_. Harry is infuriated.

But he keeps his mouth shut.

He just quietly follows Louis back to their cabin and (attempts to) sink into his stupid plank of a mattress which really doesn’t have much give to it so the sinking thing doesn’t work so well but that’s beside the point.

“Whatd’ya think?” Louis asks, pulling out the chair under the desk and plopping down.

Harry shrugs, slipping his shoes off and kicking them under the edge of the bed. “Not bad.”

Louis’ eyebrows go up and he blinks, hint of a grin forming on his face. “My apologies for not living up to your standards.”

Harry’s eyes grow wide as he fears he’s been completely misunderstood and will be banished from Louis’ cool little clique of friends and forced to spend the rest of the summer by himself or even worse; with a group of eleven-year-olds. “I didn’t mean --”

“Relax,” Louis’ smile returns with ease. “I’m only teasing. We need’a loosen you up a bit, we do. No one’s gonna bite your head off, ya know.”

Harry feels the warmth return to his cheeks yet again and he can’t help but wonder why he was cursed with such nerves. Damn them. “Yeah, I know,” he returns, offering a weak grin back. Louis is nice. Harry does enjoy it.

“I feel it my duty as a respectable roomate to at least give you a heads up that the alarm sounds at six tomorrow,” Louis explains, sliding his shoes off and lining them up next to the desk.

Harry’s eyes grow wide in horror at this new found information. “I don’t even wake up that early for school.”

“Don’t worry mate,” Louis grins reassuringly, standing up and again wandering over to ruffle up Harry’s hair. “It’ll be fun,” he decides as he climbs the latter to his top bunk. “You’ll get used to it.”

“Mmm,” is Harry’s only reply, though he’s not so certain this will be the case. Worries aside, once his head hits the pillow, he finds himself overcome with the urge to sleep for days; probably because of the sun he’d been soaking in all day, and it takes him merely minutes to nod off, much to the surprise of Louis who, in turn -- and after climbing down from his bunk to turn off the lights -- is out only a few moments later.

 

* * *

 

One would think, after a nice, long, nine hour sleep, that Harry should be fully rested and prepared for the god damn fucking trumpet that blasts through the entire fucking campground at five of six.

He’s not.

Instead he can barely turn his head due to the useless lump of a pillow that’s been supplied to him and his body feels like he’s spent three days sleeping on concrete. This is not humane, he figures. It can’t be legal.

He groans into his pillow before glancing around at the unfamiliar surroundings he’s woken up to, and then he groans again.

“You okay down there?”

A third groan once Harry remembers that there’s a total stranger sleeping in the same room as him, which he’s definitely not used to, and not only is he sleeping in the same room as him, but he’s sleeping less than two meters above him.

If it wasn’t Louis, Harry would probably not be very okay with this situation.

But, considering it is, he’s actually pretty pleased. He likes Louis and he wants to be friends with Louis and he just hopes he doesn’t make that totally obvious because it would probably make him seem a bit desperate.

It’s strange because Harry’s typically not very forward in making friends; mainly because he’s just kind of shy and quiet but he can’t help it with Louis. He’s just the kind of person who you instantly want to be mates with.

Harry kind of wants to roll his eyes at himself for even thinking that because it sounds kind of lame and pathetic but whatever.

He’s broken from his thoughts when the body of the roommate in question flings itself from the top bunk and onto the floor, and Harry wonders how in the hell he’s got so much energy this early in the morning because all he wants to do is curl back up on his piece of wood and lumpy rock pillow and go back to sleep.

“Come on!” Louis reaches in and shakes Harry by the shoulder. “Rise and shine.”

Harry grumbles about a bit before finally sitting up, pulling the blanket up around his shoulders, summer chill filling the room. He glances through the window and it’s not even fully light out yet. This must be used as a form of torture somewhere, he figures.

He looks around grumpily before spotting Louis getting dressed in the corner and he glances away because well, he probably wouldn’t make a very good name for himself if he was caught staring at his roommate getting dressed on the first morning he’s here, so instead he just looks out the window and hopes the sun comes up within the next five minutes, otherwise he’s not stepping foot out of his bed.

“Come on!” Louis repeats, “Get dressed, we gotta get goin’!” he leans in once again, patting Harry’s leg this time and tossing his bag back up onto his bunk.

“Going where?” Harry wonders groggily. He was made aware that the alarm would sound at six, but nobody told him about _going_ anywhere at six.

“Assembly,” Louis explains, slipping his shoes on and taking a seat at the desk yet again. “I’ll wait for you if you can get ready in the next three minutes. 

Harry groans a fortieth time but in an effort to not awkwardly wander to what he’s assuming will be the mess hall on his own and then awkwardly wander inside and sit by himself, he too, rolls out of bed and digs through his backpack and finds a wrinkled t-shirt and jeans. He tries to decide whether he should just do it right here or maybe stand behind the bed or something because he doesn’t want to seem so forward but he also doesn’t want to make it seem like he sees Louis as some sort of creep who would watch him getting dressed.

He decides to clear his throat and change shirts where he’s at, but wanders to the head of the bunk beds as if he’s just taking a brisk walk in order to partially shield himself as he changes into clean trousers. It’s just that when he turns around he swears he totally catches Louis staring.

Blatantly. Like he’s not even trying to hide it.

That is until he notices Harry noticing and stands from his seat. “Right then, off we go.”

Harry just nods, slight redness remaining in his cheeks and slips into his shoes before following Louis’ lead. He’s probably just being paranoid.

They join up with Niall, Liam and Zayn once they reach the mess hall and Harry feels quite smug with the fact that he’s totally not sitting by himself before realizing how pathetic this sounds even to him, so he just turns his brain off and listens to the same girl standing on the same table she did yesterday.

Harry’s eyebrows have never been closer acquaintances as he scrunches his face up, again in attempt to try and figure out if the girl speaking actually talks like this in day to day life. He has a hard time believing so, but in the fraction of a chance that she does, he can’t help but feel sorry for her friends.

Louis seems to be having similar thoughts as he teases and mocks her a bit, quietly to the group; not maliciously because Harry can’t picture there being a malicious bone in the boy’s body, at least not that he can tell yet, but in a jovial way and Harry can’t wipe the grin off his face from trying not to laugh.

He’s finding this to become too frequent of a trend, the fact that he literally laughs at every word that comes out of Louis’ mouth. Whatever. He’s a funny kid. Harry just hopes it’s not entirely obvious how infatuated he is. Louis’ like the cool kids at school that Harry could only dream of being friends with, only about a thousand times nicer and funnier and also, _making friends with Harry_. That’s the main difference.

Niall partakes in Louis’ little game which leads to their end of the table erupting in a bit of laughter, which in turn results in some cold glares given by a few nearby counselors who keep shushing them. Harry thinks perhaps he should be paying attention considering this is the first year he’s ever been here, but he figures Louis will tell him whatever he needs to know so instead he just indulges in a good bit of laughter with his new, dare he say, _friends_ , and lets out a huge sigh of relief when the long, drawn out speech finally ends in, “so have a great summer and we’ll see you at the campfire tonight!”

Harry didn’t get much from it other than the fact that ‘all recreational activities are mandatory with out formal exemption’ which Harry thinks is kind of ironic considering it’s called _recreation_ but he only has a problem with this a little bit anyway because he certainly isn’t keen on partaking in _any_ activities at six in the morning but he likes most sports to a certain extent and he does enjoy a good swim every now and again so it shouldn’t be _too_ bad.

He hopes, anyway.

Either way he won’t have to deal with that until tomorrow because that’s when the recreational activities begin, and as for now, he’s following Louis and his friends to the currently empty football pitch and well, even though he enjoys watching football and playing football, he’s just...not very good at football. And he doesn’t try to pretend that he is when Niall asks. “I’m pretty shit.”

Louis chuckles evily as he and Niall head onto one side of the pitch; the self proclaimed better of the group. Liam’s not so bad, they tell him, but Zayn’s pretty shit as well and since Liam’s nice, he’ll take Zayn and Harry on his side and hope for the best. Harry doesn’t see this game turning out so well but he’s not very bothered.

He was expecting a torture chamber and all he’s doing is playing football early in the morning. He’ll take what he can get.

 His assumption of the game not turning out so well turns out to be correct because they were right; Niall and Louis _are_ good. He and Zayn are utter shit and Liam’s merely subpar compared to the other two, so the game is really over within the first five minutes of it starting

Louis starts feeling bad about half way through at the unfair advantage he’s created and starts purposely playing shit but all three of them can see right through it, especially when Louis passes the ball to _him_ instead of Niall who’s literally standing approximately two meters away and at this point the game is just kind of senseless.

But it was still a nice gesture.

Liam gives up some point a few moments later and is sitting on the side picking grass. Zayn gives up next and joins him, and obviously Harry is no match for Niall and Louis, who he’s discovered are a force not to be reckoned with when it comes to football, so instead the three of them left on the pitch just kick the ball around for fun.

“I thought you said you were a footie fan,” Louis recalls with a grin from the conversation earlier as he kicks the ball to Harry.

“I am,” Harry kicks it to Niall. “I’m great at watching it. Just not playing.”

Louis laughs; loud and contagious and Harry doesn’t really think it was all that funny but he wont complain; he’s been laughing at Louis’ jokes all morning so it’s nice for the tables to turn. “We’ll have to work on that.”

Harry just smiles. He’d be totally okay with Louis teaching him how to play football. But alas, not right now. They mostly just continue to kick the ball around a while until Niall complains he’s hungry and Zayn may possibly be asleep in the sidelines. Zayn’s quiet, he notices, but he can’t tell if he’s genuinely just shy or if he’s cocky. And Harry doesn’t really kind of doesn’t want to like him because of this but he likes Liam; Liam’s nice, and Zayn and Liam seem quite close, so if Liam’s friends with him, he mustn’t be _too_ bad.

“Hungry?” Louis asks Harry as he jogs up beside him, tossing the ball back into the cart. It seems they’ve chosen the perfect time to leave, as a younger group of kids makes it’s way onto the field.

Harry just shrugs. He’s a bit weary because if the quality of his mattress says anything about the quality of lunch, he expects to lose a few pounds this summer.

“Me either,” Louis chuckles, and offers a “catch ya’ later” to Niall who’s headed off in the direction of the cafeteria with Zayn and Liam. Niall nods goodbye and goes on his merry way. “If you want,” he starts, “you can be on my team in the competitive football. I’ll cover ya’,” he winks, and Harry chuckles.

“Competitive football?”

Louis nods. “That’s one of the activities. I’m always a team captain, I’ll choose you first if you want.”

Harry smiles, flattered at the offer. “You’d probably be better off choosing someone like Niall. Believe it or not, that display was the height of my full potential,” Harry explains glumly as he nods back toward the football pitch.

“That’s all right,” Louis claps a hand to Harry’s shoulder. “You’ll learn from the master.”

Harry just laughs and rolls his eyes but is thanking Louis internally. At least he won’t be chosen last.

The remainder of the afternoon is spent in their cabin, chatting about who they go for in footie to school to their friends at home. It’s mainly casual small talk, which Harry doesn’t mind terribly if he’s honest. That leaves less of a chance for him to make a fool of himself by going off on a tangent about his hamster that died in year four and how his parents bought him a turtle to replace it but it just wasn’t the same -- yeah.

It’s just that there’s only so much small talk you can make and the conversation falls slightly awkward quite quickly. Harry clears his throat as he smoothes the sheets around him, occupying the now few-moment-silence that’s fallen over them.

“What’s the craziest sex dream you’ve had?”

The question is like a mild slap in the face to Harry and he blinks a few times before his eyes focus on Louis sitting diagonally from him at the desk seat and his face screws up. “Pardon?”

Louis shrugs. “I just figured we could make our awkward relationship even more awkward than it’s been since you saw me watching you get dressed this morning.”

Harry nods in understanding. “Ice sufficiently broken.”

But on the inside he’s still at a loss.

Louis grins proudly and stands up, then walks over and reaches out to ruffle Harry’s hair. “S’what I’m here for.”

Harry prides himself on keeping his cool but actually _what the fuck_? What does that mean? What exactly is Louis trying to _say_?

Louis’ still talking as he climbs up onto his bunk; something about football and how he’ll have to introduce Harry to so-and-so and teach him such-and-such, but Harry’s still hung up on the fact that Louis’ just casually brought up discussing sex dreams after knowing Harry for a total of about twenty six hours, and also casually admitted that he was watching Harry get dressed this morning.

Perhaps this is typical for Louis; he wouldn’t necessarily be surprised, per se, as he’d learned quite early on yesterday that boundaries don’t really exist for Louis, but that’s certainly not the type of light conversation he’s used to.

In the off chance that this is some form of _flirtation_ , which seems to be the most obvious but at the same time most unlikely, Harry is completely baffled as to what in the hell to do because he just...Louis isn’t... _He_ isn’t...Oh dear, he just doesn’t know.

He’s never dealt with a situation such as, before.

Mainly because Louis is a boy. And perhaps it’s just his... _vibrant personality_ , but Harry feels a little silly for a moment for not taking into consideration the fact that Louis could possibly be _gay_ before. Especially like when he was staring at him getting dressed.

And Harry himself?

Harry’s...not very fond of girls. He’s not...necessarily... _not straight_. It’s just that when all of the boys in his grade go to parties to make out with girls, he’d maybe rather play video games. His friends are losing their virginities left and right and he’s just -- well, he’s not very eager. He’d rather eat pizza. Not have sex with girls. So, maybe he’s...not exactly straight. He’s not really sure what he is. He doesn’t care and he doesn’t spend much time thinking about it because it confuses him and it scares him and the subject of thought just typically turns to something else. Like playing Fifa or ice cream or something nice. Not something that could possibly lead to a lifetime full of torment.

He’s just over thinking it, he decides. Louis’ only joking around anyway, and this is just a bit silly. Now he feels incredibly uncomfortable for even entertaining the idea.

He clears his throat again, feeling strangely accused despite the fact that there’s no possible way Louis could know what he’s thinking. He’s now moved on to the topic of the cafeteria’s mashed potatoes. They’re okay with a little salt and butter.

“I’m gonna get some air,” Harry pardons himself, to the dismay of Louis, but he just shrugs and turns his attention back to the ceiling as Harry steps out onto the porch.

It’s just the lack of communication with the outside world, he decides, which has triggered such thoughts planting themselves in his head. He has too much time to think with no phone or computer and the fact that he just really wants to be Louis’ friend is making his brain jump to conclusions. Weird conclusions. So whatever. It’s not a big deal, he’s not exactly mental to question Louis’ intentions in watching him change his trousers this morning -- which he still doesn’t get but that’s beside the point -- and so he really can’t blame himself. If anything he guesses he can blame Louis, but he’s not really bothered enough anyway, now that he’s come outside to cool down.

Which really results in the opposite effect considering it’s midday in the beginning of summer and Harry’s beginning to sweat from just standing out here, so he decides maybe he should go back inside. He feels better now that’s he’s grounded himself and besides, he sees Zayn approaching with Niall in tow from somewhere or another and he really catches the vibe that Zayn’s not so into him so in order to avoid some sort of strange confrontation, he just goes back inside, slides into his bunk, seemingly unnoticed by Louis and lays down against his lumpy pillow.

It’ll be fine.

 

* * *

 

He doesn’t even realize he’s nodded off until he’s being shaken awake by Louis, who’s geared up and ready to go to the stupid campfire that’s about to take place. He glances up to see the other boys waiting by the door and feels slightly more than a bit foolish for keeping them waiting, therefore doesn’t bother to do anything more than run his hands through his unruly curls and slip back into his shoes.

Any weirdness between he and Louis earlier dissolves as they begin discussing marshmallows on their way to the fire pit and he’s happy to see that his strange internal dilemma seems to have solved itself with a good sleep.

There’s a long lecture on fire safety -- not to step too close to the flame and to never, under any circumstances, point your marshmallow poker at other campers, and if Harry didn’t know any better he might assume that the instructor is under the impression that he’s speaking to a group of six year olds.

Considering Harry and Louis had both discovered their mutual adoration of marshmallows prior to the fire, they’re both eager to begin -- perhaps a little too eager, Harry discovers, as he pulls his stick out to discover that the stupid puffy sugar blob is on fire, what was once white and pure now black and, well...not pure. He frowns, bottom lip jutting out slightly as he holds it toward Louis. “It caught fire.”

“Harry,” Louis’ hand covers Harry’s, gripped tightly around the bottom of the stick, and he pulls it toward him. He blows the fire out and, after a moment of waiting for it to cool, pulls the marshmallow off the stick and chucks it somewhere behind him before pulling a new one from the bag. “Let me teach you a thing or two about marshmallow roasting.”

Fresh marshmallow secured, he releases Harry’s stick back into the hands of it’s rightful owner and demonstrates the proper way to roast a marshmallow with his own stick. “Firstly, you’re holding it far too close.”

Harry, slightly taken a back by the sudden seriousness of the situation, grins at the ridiculousness and pulls his marshmallow away from the fire. Louis certainly wasn’t exaggerating when he said he was an expert on marshmallows. Resident marshmallow roaster extraordinaire, one may say. Perhaps that’s pushing it just a little.

“Step one is to always hold your marshmallow a reasonable length away from the flames. You don’t wanna scorch it,” he explains, and Harry nods as he drinks in the knowledge from the fountain of information that is Louis, and he sees Niall and Liam laughing from the log next to them at Louis’ display. This leads Harry to believe that this isn’t the first time Louis’ been so serious about something as simple as a marshmallow.

“Next,” he continues, “you have to rotate the marshmallow. If you hold it in one stable position the heat isn’t distributed evenly. In a constant rotation, the marshmallow will maintain the same temperature all the way through.”

Harry nods, carefully beginning to rotate his marshmallow in the fashion in which Louis is teaching him, watching closely to make sure he doesn’t make a mistake. This is of course before realizing that this is only a marshmallow, not exactly somebody’s life at stake, but if it humors Louis he’s willing to play along.

“Patience,” Louis starts, looking into Harry’s eyes as if this is the most insightful line of information he will ever hear, “is key.”

Harry’s eyes shift to meet Louis’ momentarily, the reflection of the flames flickering overtaking the bright blue that’s usually housed there. He nods once more, waiting for Louis to continue.

“It takes longer this way but it’s the _proper_ way,” he tells Harry, “and it tastes better. Good things take time.”

Harry nods a final time, pulling his bottom lip between his teeth as he adverts his full attention back to his marshmallow, carefully rotating it in hopes to live up to Louis’ marshmallow expectations.

He hears a round of applause erupt from Niall and Liam next to them in reaction to Louis’ heart felt speech, and he can’t help but grin as Louis bows forward in his seat, offering a, “thank you, thank you”.

It’s only a moment before Harry feels a hand clutching his forearm and he turns to Louis, who offers a stern nod. “You’re ready.”

“Oh boy,” Harry mutters, attempt at sounding somewhat excited falling flat. Nevertheless, when he pulls his marshmallow away from the fire, he must admit that he doesn’t think he’s ever seen one quite so perfect. He’s impressed, and the look on his face says so.

“Told ya’,” Louis pats Harry’s shoulder before turning his attention back to his own marshmallow. Harry smiles and mentally thanks Louis because this is possibly the finest marshmallow he’s ever had the pleasure of enjoying.

The night is mostly a success, Harry thinks, because he’s even spoken to Zayn a bit, who, if he’s reading the situation correctly, doesn’t necessarily dislike him, but is just stand-offish in general, but once he gets going he’s not so bad. He laughs at one of Harry’s jokes and Harry’s a bit more pleased than he cares to admit. Fitting in isn't so bad.

 

* * *

 

The next few days are smooth sailing. Waking up to a blaring trumpet after sleeping on the most uncomfortable excuse for a bed known to man all night is always a little rough, but when Louis’ chirping around energetically, it can’t help but catch on. The first morning they play tennis and Harry’s really not very knowledgeable in the field of tennis therefore he’s sort of at a loss, so mostly he just stands at the back of the court with Liam goofing off with spare balls that roll over.

At some point over the course of the week he finally mans up and tries something other than mashed potatoes from the cafeteria, which he’s been sustaining himself on for the past few days -- he thinks Louis’ standards must be practically non-existent because even with salt and butter Harry would hardly say they’re passable. The spaghetti is probably the most horrid thing he’s ever eaten in his life and is slightly reminiscent of soggy worms drowning in dirty water. He steers clear of all pasta from now on, but he does learn that the tacos aren’t too bad and that it’s very, very difficult to screw up peanut butter and jelly, so that’s mostly what he sticks to. He’s amazed at Niall’s ability to literally down anything they serve with out even flinching and sometimes even enjoying it.

He’s almost solved the complex puzzle that is the incredibly temperamental shower taps; a few more tries and he’ll have it down, he thinks.

He even sort of makes friends with Zayn --sort of being key; it’s still difficult to draw out more than five words at a time -- when they go swimming because Zayn hates swimming -- or can’t swim, as Louis teases -- and when the other three all go towards the deep end with out a second thought, Harry sits with Zayn in the shallow end and it’s mostly awkward silence for the first five minutes but then they ease into a conversation that is surprisingly easy to maintain and Harry doesn’t feel quite as uncomfortable around him anymore.

On the sixth day they play volley ball and everyone is highly taken aback at how good Harry is because nobody seems to be expecting it. Harry isn’t really expecting it either, to be fair. Louis makes Harry promise to always stay on a team with him and Harry doesn’t hesitate to agree.

He takes a moment to recount the last few days and realizes that his fear of becoming too attached to Louis within the first five minutes of meeting him is beginning to prove itself. He just can’t help but smile and/or laugh at practically every sentence that come’s out of Louis’ mouth, which is strange but Louis’ just...funny, Harry guesses. Or maybe it’s just the fact that Louis is so eager to be mates, which Harry would have never initially pictured in a million years. Not if he was one of the kids back at home.

He begins to realize the severity of the situation when it occurs to him that he sat for five minutes the other night taking what seemed like life or death instructions from Louis over roasting a marshmallow. And what’s even worse is that now, he wouldn’t even dream about roasting a marshmallow any other way.

This leads to a slight level of concern.

But it’s not something he keeps too concerned about. It’s not like he has some unhealthy obsession or anything. He just thinks Louis’ cool. He is, and he’s funny and quirky and Harry’s really glad he got roomed with him because he’s making this stay a lot more enjoyable, from what he can tell in the first few days of being confined here -- and he still does see it as being confined, thank you very much because this still is _not his choice_ , and he still cannot leave. And he doesn’t see anything wrong in partaking in a bit of new friendship.

It isn’t until Friday when one of his banished notions pops itself right back into his head with out any sort of permission.

He _does_ really like Louis, in the sense where he really just wants to be his best friend because after knowing him barely a week he feels as if he can tell Louis anything -- even though he still hasn’t but the point is if he had to, he’d be totally okay with it. Kind of. Well, maybe not. But he feels _less shy_ than he normally would, that’s the point. He gets a little too comfortable with their morning routine of him laying in bed groaning as Louis gives him a pep talk while he gets dressed about how there’s a whole world to see and how you can’t see it all through the window.

On Friday morning in particular, Louis tells Harry he’s cute.

“Come on, I haven’t got the heart to pull you out of bed this morning, you look too cute.”

And Harry’s very aware that Louis doesn’t actually _mean_ anything by it but what frightens him more is the fact that he literally can’t wipe the stupid grin off his face, no matter how hard he tries. The feeling that arises inside of him has literally never terrified him more because he’s almost ninety eight percent positive that Louis calling him cute should _not_ make him this happy.

He’s not really okay with the fact that Louis seems to have this weird ability to make him feel things that he’s never given himself permission to feel. The worst part is that even when he tells himself that he’s just really pleased that Louis wants to be friends with him, he knows that if that was simply the case he wouldn’t feel so fucking giddy every time Louis spoke to him. He feels fucking ridiculous. It’s like he’s got no control over the situation and what makes it even worse is that he still genuinely doesn’t understand what the situation is. What exactly it is about Louis that makes him so special. What it is about Louis that makes Harry literally want to spend every waking moment with him.

It’s weird and he’s never been like that with any of his friends at home and he’s not even like that with his new friends here. Louis’ on another level and Harry can’t figure it out.

He’s not even really sure he wants to.

He doesn’t have much more time to dwell on it anyway because he has to roll out of bed at some point, and when he does he lazily pulls on a pair of shorts and the t-shirt he’s been supplied with to wear during recreation before slipping into his shoes and following Louis down to the mess hall to read the schedule for the day.

If one were to ask Harry at the current time what would be the absolute last thing he wished was written on that itinerary for this morning it would be ‘go on a two hour nature hike’.

As it turns out, there are forces of nature working against him.

“Who hikes for two hours?” Harry groans, shoulders slouching as he and Louis make their way over to the rest of the group.

“You’re a lazy one, you are,” Louis decides as they regroup with Zayn and Niall.

“I’m not lazy,” Harry shoots defensively. “I just prefer a brisk ten minute walk. Not climbing hills for two hours.”

Louis chuckles. “It’s not exactly Mount Everest we’re dealing with, Harry.”

Harry rolls his eyes as Niall and Zayn join in the laughter. He for one sees no humor in the situation at hand.

“Don’t worry,” Louis grins, scrunching his nose up as he squeezes Harry’s shoulder, “if you get tired I’ll carry you back.”

“Gee thanks,” Harry grumbles, though -- there comes that stupid smile again! Harry decides to start referring to it as the Louis’ being stupid smile. In reality it’s more of a ‘Louis’  being charming and making me blush smile’. Harry will ignore that.

Liam shows up a few moments later and they’re off into the woods where it takes Harry approximately three and half minutes to realize just how out of shape he is. Playing football and volleyball are one thing; at least then you’re on a team so you aren’t constantly moving. Mount Everest or not, this incline is making him wish he had an excuse to go back to his rock. Bed. Whatever.

“Come on, keep up!” Louis urges, looking over his shoulder at Harry a few meters back. He pauses until Harry catches up and then links their arms together at the elbows. “It’s hardly been ten minutes.”

“What’s the point of this?” Harry whines. “Why can’t we just play football?”

“Not much nature to see on a football pitch, is there?” Louis teases.

Harry shrugs. “There’s grass.”

It’s about an hour before Harry’s really on his last leg. That and there’s only so much he can take of the instructors babbling on enthusiastically about butterflies and moss and he just _really_ needs a break. Thankfully when he glances over at Louis, he notices that he’s quite out of breath as well, and he doesn’t even have to ask before Louis’ pulling him off to the side.

“You lasted longer than I expected,” Louis admits with a shrug, leaning his back up against a nearby tree.

Harry opts to hunch over, hands right above his knees in order to catch his breath. He would be offended if he weren’t so blatantly thinking the same exact thing.

“What in the hell do you do at home if you’re so rubbish at football and you’re out of breath after climbing ten minutes?” Louis asks, and the sentence itself is practically an insult and Harry really should be offended at this point, but coming from Louis, it just isn’t offensive, most likely because Louis has a way of speaking where even if he does insult you, you can’t be upset. Louis is the king of polite insults, so it seems.

Harry shrugs, clearing his throat as he finally stands up straight, having caught his breath. “Spot of golf.”

“Golf?” Louis raises an eyebrow unexpectantly. “Sounds very posh.”

Harry shrugs a final time, biting his lip as he glances around at the woods surrounding him. “What d’you do? Hike around in the forests by your house?”

Louis laughs this time, eyes crinkling up. “Mostly footie. Bit of swimming. Definitely not golf,” he chuckles as he pats Harry on the shoulder, urging him to continue.

Harry would probably be a bit more defensive if his lifestyle was slightly more active but considering he and his friends spend the majority of their time playing video games and ordering takeaways with their parents’ money, and only playing a very minimal amount of actual sports, he doesn’t really have much to say, except how thankful he is for his speedy metabolism, which has aided in him remaining incredibly slim. Unfortunately that doesn’t come in handy much on a two hour hike.

Harry doesn’t have much to say for himself other than, “I could really go for a pizza.”

Louis laughs.

Mostly everybody decides to go for a swim in the pool after the hike to cool off but Louis opts to strip down to his boxers instead and jump off the dock into the lake.

Harry’s not sure why he expected anything less.

He looks out onto the water as Louis creates a rather large splash, sparkling in the sunlight and when he comes to the surface, he shakes his hair out and offers Harry a big grin, wading about like he hasn’t got a care in the world. “Your turn!” he shouts.

Harry glances around. He’s certain that they’re not supposed to be here right now but, well, there really aren’t any instructors around anyway and the lake looks awfully appealing with the way the sun’s glistening off the rippling soft waves.

But does he really want to get into trouble after being here hardly a week? He bites his lip indecisively and flinches as Louis splashes water toward him. He’s too far out for it to even come close to Harry and Louis laughs at his reaction considering this. “Come on,” he urges.

Harry lets out a sigh and convinces himself that he tried really hard to resist before pulling his t-shirt over his head and kicking off his shoes. He half considers just walking around the other side and perhaps politely using the ladder by the rope swing, that way he doesn’t cause some big commotion but ultimately decides against it when he realizes he’s been thinking about this far too long. Louis’ smiling as Harry glances around to double check no one’s watching before diving in just as Louis had before, becoming submerged in water, warm at the surface from the sun’s reflection and cooler a little further down, noise drowned out to a low hum. 

When his head emerges from under the water and his ears are clear again, he’s met with serene silence as he blinks the water from his eyes and sees Louis grinning a few meters away from him, and then he swims over and moves a piece of hair that’s stuck to Harry’s forehead behind his ear.

“Let me guess, they don’t swim in lakes at daddy’s country club, do they?” Louis jokes, bringing a hand up to shield his eyes from the sun.

“Step daddy,” Harry corrects, and Louis gets a mild ‘oh shit’ look on his face at his mistake before Harry chuckles to show he means no harm and hasn’t taken any offense. He shakes his head as he slowly wades his arms and legs through the warm water to stay afloat, squinting from the sun. “Indoor swimming pools,” he grins.

Louis smiles then turns and starts to swim out a bit further. Harry’s cautious at first but follows nevertheless, because being in the lake with Louis, just the two of them, with the sun shining down and the way that Louis’ practically _glistening_ tan skin smells like coconut sun tan lotion, he really _can’t_ resist. This is practically paradise.

Louis starts to show off his strokes a bit, agile and smooth as he glides through the water and Harry can’t help but feel a bit useless floating around like a log. God damn Louis and his ability to be good at everything.

“So?”

Harry’s thoughts are broken as he sees Louis staring at him expectantly. “So what?”

“Is it still just ‘not bad’?”

Harry smiles, recalling his dodgy conversational skills on his first night here and can’t help the redness that creeps to his cheeks. “Don’t think I can make that call until I try the cafeteria’s pizza.”

Louis laughs, loud and contagious and it echoes in the openness around them and Harry once again is reminded that it’s just he and Louis here right now and he’s enjoying it slightly more than he cares to admit. “Don’t get your hopes too high.”

Harry chuckles despite the true disappointment he’s feeling deep inside because he really doesn’t know how he’ll survive the entire duration of the summer with out at least one decent pizza but his thoughts are short lived as he feels something drift against his foot and his eyes grow wide and in an instant, he goes into panic mode.

He starts kicking his feet but to no avail and his heart starts racing at the premature thought that a six ton shark or something equally as terrifying is coming to attack him before he realizes he’s in a lake at summer camp and not the Atlantic ocean but _still,_ clearly _something_ is coming for him and it won’t get the fuck away from his feet.

Louis turns around at the commotion Harry’s causing from his splashing around and is very confused to say the least at the site he’s greeted with. “What are you doing?”

“Something is touching my foot. Louis,” Harry repeats, “something is touching my foot.”

He tries his very hardest to keep an even tone but the panic creeping up his throat his causing his breathing to go sporadic and he feels slightly apologetic for putting Louis in this position considering the look on his face but _something is touching his foot_.

“Relax, it’s probably just a fish or something,” Louis tries, but this doesn’t do much in soothing Harry as whatever this mysterious creature is begins to wrap itself around Harry’s foot and his panic level rises even higher.

“Louis!” he splashes. “Louis, something’s touching my foot!” he repeats the same phrase a few times, unaware of the reason as to why Louis hasn’t fucking come to his rescue yet because something’s about to suffocate him via ankle and he’s just fucking floating there.

It doesn’t seem to be going anywhere and at this point Harry’s not far from flailing and screaming because this is causing awful memories from a cruise in year six to resurface in which a squid decided his foot seemed a sufficient home to latch onto. It was a traumatizing experience. He had nightmares for weeks.

Louis bites his lip in confusion as Harry struggles but he’s uncertain as to what he’s actually meant to be doing in such a situation because, well, he’s never been put in such a situation before. “Mate, chill out,” he tries, but, well. Harry doesn’t.

He’s thrashing now, gasping with screeches and wails equivalent to what one may compare to a wild animal on the receiving end of non-consensual anal penetration. Louis is at a loss.

He would perhaps try and reach out if he hadn’t any particular sentimental attachment to his eyes but alas, he fears they may be gouged out by Harry’s rapidly flailing arms if he swims any closer so instead he just stays where he’s at, running a hand through his dripping hair and weighing his options. To be fair, he doesn’t really have many.

Thankfully, before Harry knows it, he’s flailed his way almost back to the dock so he digs down deep in himself to find the will to swim the rest of the way there and once he does, Louis attempting to stay in tow, he hikes himself up, freeing his foot of whatever monstrous creature had affixed itself there.

He perches himself up on the edge of the dock and generally tries to calm the fuck down, but try as he may, he ends up unsuccessful in doing so. Fluids draining from their respective facial orifices, he inhales deeply before letting it out and wiping at his face with hands, thinking he must look pretty pathetic and disgusting at the moment. He’s not sure whether to revel in relief or cringe in embarrassment but ultimately decides that at the moment he’s just fucking glad he’s not in that god damn lake anymore.

Some paradise.

“Harry?”

Harry, who’s trying his very damndest to catch his breath, glances down at Louis who’s still wading in the water just a few meters away.

“It was just seaweed,” he brings his hand above the surface, draped in an unappealing as fuck murky green piece of plant.

Harry’s never known the extent of just how remarkably red his chest and face could become but he thinks he’s just discovered it. So much for not making a fool of himself. He falls flat back on the dock, fully convinced he hasn’t got anything else to lose, especially not his dignity and at this point he may as well strip off all of his remaining clothing and make a public announcement to the campground that he slept with a teddy bear until he was thirteen.

He’s almost positive that would be less embarrassing than this.

Louis attempts to hold back laughter as he hikes himself back up onto the dock next to Harry but his effort proves a failure as he bursts into hysterics.

Harry covers his face with his nearby shoe.

“Mate you should have seen your face,” Louis manages through his laughter, burying his face in his hands as his frame shakes with mirth.

Harry just groans, forcing himself to sit up, fumbling with the shoe in his lap. “Sorry about that...” he grumbles.

“Oh, no, I’m,” he pauses, willing the laughter away, “...sorry I didn’t do more in terms of coming to your rescue. S’pose that wasn’t very valiant of me. I just...didn’t wanna lose any limbs,” Louis explains, and Harry just nods in understanding.

“That’s okay,” he offers quietly, picking at the lace of his trainers.

“Guess you should stick to those indoor swimming pools from now on,” Louis teases and Harry can’t help but crack a grin at this despite his ever present embarrassment.

“Yeah, guess so.”

It’s an exhausting afternoon to say the least, and when they finally make their way back to the main camp grounds, with a lashing from Liam about how he had to cover for them when their absence was questioned, Harry fancies nothing more than a nice long nap and perhaps an ice bath in aid to all of his newly acquired sunburn.

No such luck because as it turns out, Louis has other plans.

“Correct me if I’m wrong but didn’t you mention pizza?” he questions as Harry slides into his bunk, and he slides into his respective chair as has become routine over the past few days.

Harry just grunts before making himself comfortable -- or as comfortable as the circumstances allow -- and then lets out a sigh. “You can go.”

“Can’t leave you on your own after all that, can I,” Louis smiles warmly and Harry has a feeling that he will probably never live this day down.

“It’s fine, go have lunch. You don’t have to stay on account of me.”

“No, I like it. Roomate bonding time,” he grins cheesily, and Harry can’t help but roll his eyes. He finds this to be his new default mechanism when it comes to a situation in which Louis is involved.

“We’ve been _bonding_ all morning,” Harry reminds him, and Louis mocks offense.

“Well if I’d known that you so badly wanted to get rid of me I’d have just left.”

Harry doesn’t want to get rid of Louis. That’s exactly the absolute last thing he wants. He’s not exactly sure how to express this with out sounding desperate and weird so he just shrugs.

Truth be told, had that been anyone other than Louis he would literally still be hanging his head in shame and probably wouldn’t get out of bed for three days, but there’s something about Louis that makes it not as bad and so he’s glad it was Louis. He still wishes it hadn’t happened, but he’s glad Louis was there, of all people.

Perhaps he didn’t do much in terms of slaying the beast for Harry but in terms of moral support, Louis is his knight in shining armor -- once he finishes laughing at Harry’s expense.

Now Harry feels like being sick because this is by far the sappiest metaphor he’s ever heard and he’s created it himself.

What in the world is becoming of him.

“You’re supposed to say I’m wrong and that you want me to stay,” Louis explains as if Harry’s forgotten, and once he tunes back into the conversation he smiles.

“Right, sorry.”

“Come on,” Louis stands from his seat, idea of spending the rest of the afternoon in their cabin abandoned as he tosses Harry’s shoes toward the bed, “there’s a pizza in the caf calling our name.”

Harry groans but slides out from his bunk nonetheless, having built up quite an appetite through his morning adventures. He just hopes the pizza isn’t as bad as the spaghetti.

As it turns out, he discovers, if pizza were a bed, this pizza would be the mattress in his cabin. He’s sad to say this may be the first pizza-less summer of his life, which is a life that Harry just has no interest in leading.

 

* * *

 

He only grows more confused as the days pass as to what exactly Louis is doing to him. It’s -- well, it’s odd, really, because he finds that in the stupid twenty minute time slots in which Louis goes to one of the other boys’ cabins or goes for a shower, he wishes Louis was back in the cabin with him.

In the first few days he chalks it up to the fact that this is all new to him and he doesn’t want to be left alone because he still doesn’t really know his way around and he needs someone to show him the ropes. The more time that passes though, and the more equipped to being here he becomes, he can’t continue using that excuse because it really isn’t valid anymore.

Genuinely, he really isn’t sure what it is about Louis. Harry thinks Niall and Liam and Zayn are great but when they all retreat to their respective cabins at night, he’s really not all that bothered. The two weeks he’s known Louis seem like months and he supposes that’s probably due to the fact that they’ve spent nearly every waking moment together, as opposed to when you meet a new friend in the real world, where you maybe see each other a couple hours a day at the most.

What’s even worse is that despite feeling as though he’s known Louis ages, he still gets jittery and nervous and goes out of his way to try not to make a fool out of himself -- even though he still somehow manages to do so on a nearly daily basis -- and it just doesn’t add up.

It really doesn’t help when Louis, on a day-to-day basis, says things such as, “what d’you say to a romantic date in the cafeteria, I hear they’re serving burgers today” and “you can wank if you want, I won’t listen, promise. Well maybe just a little.”

He’s always joking of course, but it just makes Harry’s stomach do this weird flippy thing and generally makes him uncomfortable because he’s not ever quite sure how to respond. Usually he just offers a nervous laugh.

Perhaps he’s looking too far into it, it just seems that if Louis were, say, a girl, all of these signs he’s observing in himself would very obviously point to having a crush.

But Louis isn’t a girl, and Harry’s just...he’s never had a crush on a _boy_ before and he’s not really sure he’s willing to allow himself to because that’s just...different. His friends at home don’t have crushes on each other and it just doesn’t seem fitting to have a crush on one of his mates, of all people.

To be fair the last crush he can remember having on a girl was probably in year three and it was his teacher.

So.

Whatever.

He wills himself to just let the subject drop because they’re playing vollyball this afternoon and he’s too busy mentally preparing himself to conquer. The subject of impressing Louis isn’t too far off either, but that’s beside the point.

Louis’ giving him a pep talk as they make their way to the volleyball court and if Harry didn’t know any better he might think he’s competing in the Olympics. However he’s too busy minding the fact that there’s another group of kids in the lake to really care, and he knows that once he and his group are through with volleyball they’ll be switching and he’s not so eager to get very cozy with the lake again just yet.

In fact his stomach flips a bit just at the thought.

It’s he, Zayn and Louis against Niall and Liam -- and the rest of both of their respective teams but he hasn’t really learned any of their names nor cared to meet any of them so he mainly just considers it he, Zayn and Louis against Niall and Liam despite the five or six other people on either side.

He serves and isn’t pulled out the entire game and he’s beginning to grow a bit of a chip on his shoulder due to how impressed everyone is with his volleyball skills which he wasn’t even aware he had before their game days before.

When they win Louis runs over and picks him up and twirls him around and presses a big, sloppy kiss to the side of his head and Harry thinks his face must match the shade of the red t-shirt he’s wearing, which is probably a nice contrast to the whites of his teeth which are on full display, unable to hide his excitement, not only at the fact that he just won the game for his team but well, also because Louis’ acting in a way which suggests they’ve just been _wed_ or something and it, for whatever reason, makes Harry a bit more giddy than it should.

All is forgotten as Zayn’s ruffling Harry’s curls and offering an ‘atta’boy’ as the other team pout about but it doesn’t last long considering it’s just a stupid game and before long the group has slowly dissipated and it’s only the five of them left on the court, mostly everyone else having wandered off to the cafeteria or the pool or the showers.

“Remind me to be on your team next time,” Liam mumbles, mocking bitterness as he pouts.

Louis laughs. “Sorry boys. Soon there’ll be lines forming and I’m the only one Harry has loyalty to. He promised. Isn’t that right?” he asks, tossing an arm around Harry’s shoulder and smiling.

Harry just shrugs, offering a crooked grin and now it’s Liam’s turn to laugh. “Doesn’t seem like your loyalties lie too close. Better watch your back,” he wiggles his eyebrows and tosses the ball to Louis, and with that he and the other boys offer a nod and a wave and are on their way to the cafeteria.

Harry figures that if he wasn’t here Louis would probably be with them right now, and he probably would have been with them all the other times he opts to stick with Harry rather than partake in whatever the other three are doing. Louis’ known these boys for years and Harry wonders why in an instant he doesn’t seem to have a problem sticking with him rather than his familiar group of best friends and he suddenly feels slightly guilty. He wonders if Niall, Zayn and Liam are bothered that the fourth member of their group doesn’t spend all his time with them like they seem to with each other. To be fair, the five of them are together most of the time, when they do their recreational activities or go for a swim or have lunch. Louis’ still _with_ them. It’s just that when they have free time, the three of them tend to hang around with each other, where as Louis tends to hang around with him.

“Don’t you wanna go to the cafeteria?” Harry offers, feeling slightly guilty for, for lack of a better phrase, stealing Louis away from them.

“Are you hungry?” Louis questions, surprised considering Harry’s declaration after breakfast this morning of ‘I’m not eating anything else from this place until I’m on the brink of death’.

Harry shakes his head. “No but --” he begins, intending to remind Louis that that’s where his friends are headed, but Louis shrugs and cuts him off.

“I’m not either. Now how’s about in exchange for those football lessons you teach me some of your ways?” he holds the volleyball out to Harry, who just smiles in return.

Perhaps the fact that he’d rather spend time with Harry over his best friends is saying something. Maybe.

He gets out of canoeing later by telling the instructor that the cafeteria food from this morning made him sick and he doesn’t think his stomach can handle being in a canoe, which isn’t a total lie because the cafeteria food _always_ makes him feel slightly sick. It’s just that he’s mostly gotten used to that and well, the real reason he doesn’t want to go canoeing is obvious.

He won’t step foot in that lake for as long as he can help it.

He just sits on the dock and watches, and is glad he’s found a reasonable excuse because about half way through, Louis and Niall’s canoe tips and he’ll be damned if that was him instead. He may have never spoke to Louis again.

Thankfully it was just Niall, so he doesn’t have to worry about it.

It doesn’t help that when Louis does finally emerge from the lake, soaked and dripping murky water, he all but dives on Harry and hugs him to the point where Harry’s so soaked that he may as well have been the one in the canoe with him when it tipped. At least there’s no seaweed.

 

* * *

 

Harry thinks he must pull off faking sick pretty well because the next afternoon, which just so happens to be the first afternoon of competitive football that Louis’ been on about for days, the instructor tells Harry he’s still worried about him and thinks it’d be better if he sat out, just this game.

Louis laughs in his face and says, “Don’t worry, I’ll score a goal for you.”

Harry thinks deep down Louis’ probably pretty thankful that he’s being forced to sit out because Harry’s absolute rubbish and as it stands, Louis’ team’s score is double the other’s.

He also can’t help but be slightly jealous at Louis’ skill in the game of football because he feels as though with as long as he, himself, has been playing with his friends -- mostly on Xbox but still -- he should be on Louis’ level. Unfortunately that isn’t the case. Louis just seems to really get it, and everyone knows because whenever they’re unsure they all look to him which is why, Harry supposes, he’s always chosen as captain.

His team is lucky, really, because they wouldn’t have scored half as many points as they did had it not been for Louis. Who, by the way, has taken to turning to Harry and offering a thumbs up each time he scores one.

Which totally doesn’t result in a cheesy smile and heart-flutter or anything.

The game is over by the time it’s half way through really, and it’s quite obvious how proud Louis is as he’s running toward him, tired out and disheveled. Harry tries to look away, really. He doesn’t wanna make it completely obvious that he hasn’t taken his eyes off Louis the entire game. Nevertheless, he finds himself powerless in doing so. He just looks...sweaty, in a way that should be really, really unappealing, but for whatever reason, because it’s Louis, he guesses, it seems to have the opposite affect and Harry generally just can’t look away.

“Did’ya see me did’ya see me?!” he wonders excitedly as he plops down next to Harry in the grass, falling onto his back and stretching out like some kind of glistening, tan, football playing starfish.

Harry chuckles. “Yeah, not bad.”

“I think you need to lower your standards, me,” Louis decides, picking a piece of grass and ripping it down the center. Harry looks down and Louis’ smiling to himself as he stares at the piece of green foliage between his fingers, nails jagged and bit down.

“Maybe you just need to up your game,” Harry teases, and Louis looks slightly appalled for a moment before he realizes that Harry’s only joking, and then he chuckles.

“Like to see you do better.”

“Find me an Xbox and Fifa and you’re on,” he grins, and Louis laughs, loud and worry-free and Harry can’t help but laugh a little as well. Louis’ laugh is contagious, he decides.

“May be the only type I can play for a few days. Did something to my foot,” Louis extends his leg toward Harry, ankle red and slightly swollen.

“That’s what you get for showing off,” Harry shrugs.

“Damn, I thought for sure you hadn’t noticed,” Louis winks, and then pushes himself up off the ground with slight struggle. “Come on, let’s go get something to eat. I’m starving.”

* * *

 

Harry regrets eating garlic bread for dinner.

In fact, he’s not sure he’s regretted anything so much since he’s arrived -- except perhaps the incident in the lake.

But it would be his luck, it seems, that after everyone’s finished eating, about half the fucking cafeteria goes back to the firepit to play spin the bottle. Harry thinks it seems pretty childish not to mention he really has no interest in kissing any of the girls here -- which may have something to do with the fact that he still hasn’t met any of them -- but he doesn’t want to be a downer so he just slumps down onto a log and prays that the bottle doesn’t land on him, not only because he doesn’t particularly care for any of the girls here, but also because it would be very undesirable to earn the reputation of the new kid with garlic breath the start of his third week here.

Frankly, Harry gets bored after about the third spin. He doesn’t know any of these people therefore it isn’t funny to laugh at their expense when it lands on someone they dislike or the spin results in an awkward situation. It appears Niall is feeling the same as Harry realizes he’s taken to drawing stick figure cats in the dirt with a twig.

This is generally how most of the game plays out -- long and boring (for him, at least) and it’s only mildly exciting when a girl named Judy’s spin lands on Liam. Liam doesn’t know her either because she’s new too, just like Harry is, and despite the fact that Liam doesn’t seem overly interested, Harry’s happy for his fellow new camper because he feels as though Liam is a good person to land on.

Not for him or anything, obviously. But for a girl, Liam seems like a good person to land on during spin the bottle when you don’t know anyone else there. Liam’s a nice guy.

As for Harry, he’s...not quite sure he who wishes would land on him, if he had to choose. It’s not even only that he doesn’t know any of the girls here, it’s also just that none of them appeal to him and as he glances around the circle, he finds himself repeating over and over in his head, ‘not her, not her, definitely not her’.

The thought that it keeps coming down to is that if he had to kiss someone, he’d want it to be someone he knows.

And the only ones he really knows are four boys.

He definitely doesn’t want to kiss Zayn and he definitely doesn’t want to kiss Niall and even though Harry does quite enjoy Liam’s presence, he doesn’t want to kiss Liam either. And, well, even though his mind flees to 'and I don’t want to kiss Louis, either’ by default...he wouldn’t particularly _mind_. 

It’s not that he _wants_ to kiss Louis. It’s just that if it had to be someone, he supposes Louis is who he’d be the most comfortable with.

Even though Louis’ his mate. And also probably does not want to kiss Harry. And also a boy.

Thankfully, Harry doesn’t have to worry about kissing anyone with his garlic breath because whoever is behind the works of the universe feels bad for the amount of embarrassment they’ve put him through to this point and nobody’s bottle lands on him. Unfortunately that still means that the night is incredibly boring for him and the only time he bother’s to raise his eyes from his lap is when Louis’ spin lands on Niall, to which they both roll their eyes and share a big, sloppy, exaggerated peck.

Everyone laughs but for some reason Harry’s not compelled, and it’s only a few moments later that a counselor finds out what they’re doing and tells them all to go back to their cabins. Nobody seems to mind because it’s getting late anyway but nobody is quite as relieved as Harry.

He’s never been quite so happy to slip into his pajamas and plop onto his mattress -- after brushing his teeth of course -- which is saying a lot because he never thought he’d be happy to sleep on this thing. Nevertheless, he finds himself smiling as his head rests against his pillow and he lets out a sigh as his eyes slide closed, listening to Louis talking about the time he saw a UFO in the park by his house as he wanders around the room changing out of his clothes and into his pajamas.

He almost starts to doze off before it becomes entirely obvious that there is another person on this mattress with him, and unless it’s one of the aliens Louis’ telling him about, well...the only possibility is Louis, really.

He opens his eyes, scrunching his face up as Louis lays on his mattress aside him, crossing his legs and hands over his stomach casually. “What are you doing?” Harry wonders.

Louis glances over at Harry. “My foot. Can’t climb the latter to my bunk, you don’t mind, do you?”

Harry brings a hand up to scratch his head in confusion. “I guess I could sleep up there if you want?”

Louis shakes his head. “Just scoot over a little. And give me some pillow.”

Harry’s confusion grows slightly but he doesn’t hesitate to do so, moving closer to the wall in order to give Louis more space to stretch out.

“Cheers,” he mumbles, adjusting himself so his head’s against the pillow -- though Harry’s tempted to explain that he may sleep more comfortably with out it -- and he’s pulled the blanket across his waist.

He lets out a content sigh and Harry just stares at him, eyes closed with a smug little grin on his face, hands resting across his t-shirt.

Louis smells like a combination of chlorine and sun tan lotion and his hair looks soft and his skin is tan and smooth and soaked with warm sun and he just generally looks appealing and welcoming and comforting and Harry has the desperate urge to snuggle into the side of his crisp, white, fabric softener-scented cotton t-shirt, as soft and inviting as he is.

Instead he closes his eyes and tries to ignore the fact that Louis is sharing a twin sized mattress with him approximately an hour after Harry decided that he wouldn’t totally hate the idea of Louis kissing him -- or something like that. Perhaps he can just fall asleep before he thinks too far into things.

Instead, Louis has other plans. “What would you be doing if you were home right now?” he asks, eyes still closed and contentedness ever present.

Harry half shrugs as much as his position will allow and lets out a sigh. “Dunno. Probably playing Fifa or eating ice cream.”

Louis laughs as if this genuinely amuses him and Harry has yet to figure out why Louis finds him so humorous when he’s not even trying to be funny. “The contrast between our lives is just brilliant.”

“What would you be doing?”

“Mm, probably still be at the footie pitch or something. My mates and me play all night sometimes,” he decides tiredly.

Harry’s eyes open and he raises himself up on his elbow to squint down at Louis accusingly. “I’ve got the sneaking suspicion that you’re trying to tell me that you think I’m an absolute slob.”

Louis laughs and he opens his eyes to look up at Harry. “No, not a slob. You’re just sheltered,” he decides, offering a smirk. “It’s sweet.”

Harry has half a mind to tell Louis he’s not _sheltered_ ; he just prefers sitting in the air conditioning playing video games rather than running around outside and getting sweaty for hours on end, but this doesn’t really help his case much. Besides, he does enjoy a good game of football, he’s not totally lazy. He just tends to play it on Xbox more than he does in real life.

Considering this, he doesn't really have any further arguments, so he just lays back down and lets his eyes slide closed once more, intent on actually falling asleep this time.

No such luck.

“Harry?”

Harry lets out a sigh. “What?”

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it in a bad way. I don’t think you’re lazy. And you’re not _that_ bad at football. I shouldn’t have teased you for getting tired on the hike.”

Harry laughs at this because Louis seems genuinely apologetic and Harry really isn’t very bothered. He might be if all of the above wasn’t true but well, it is. He is pretty lazy and he’s absolute rubbish at football. He at least openly admits that he’d rather play video games than be active. “I don’t care, Louis.”

“Good,” Louis mutters in relief. “Because I don’t wanna make you feel bad.”

“Louis,” Harry finally looks at Louis, offering him a reassuring smile. “You didn’t make me feel bad.”

Louis nods, offering a grin as well. “I was hoping I hadn’t. ‘Cause I like Niall and all but I was kind of hoping when I spun that bottle it’d land on you.”

This is when Harry promptly forgets how to breathe.

Louis looks at him expectantly, waiting for his reaction but Harry’s just staring, wide eyed and heart beating out of his chest.

“Um?”

Louis laughs, staring down at his hands as he fumbles with the hem of his t-shirt. “Was kind of hoping for a ‘me too’ or something...”

Harry just continues staring as he brings a hand up to run through his hair because he literally has no idea what to say. He’s tempted to offer a ‘well I was actually thinking that if I had to choose anyone out of the entire group’s bottle to land on me I was sort of hoping that it would be you simply because I know you the best and am the most comfortable around you’ but this is too long winded and he does have a tendency to ramble but he also doesn’t want to put a blatant ‘me too’ on the table because that suggests that Harry _wants_ to kiss Louis and that’s...not _exactly_ it.

Or, well. Maybe it is.

He doesn’t _know_. He does know that when these words so casually flowed from Louis’ lips and his very own trusty lungs forgot how to function, amongst many other emotions, excitement was definitely up there.

He’s really not sure what that means.

Before, he told himself that if it _had_ to be someone, he wouldn’t _mind_ it being Louis. It’s just now that Louis’ laying this on him, he kind of...likes the idea of it more than he’d typically admit to himself.

And he’s still not sure why because he was certain he’d convinced himself that he didn’t have a _crush_ on Louis and he shouldn’t want to _kiss_ somebody that he has no interest in but now that Louis’ laying here next to him, all cozy and warm, he kind of can’t really think of anything he wants more. Not even pizza. Well, maybe pizza. But that’s about it.

“Harry?” Louis brings Harry back into reality, and he’s suddenly pressured into saying _something_ because he’s been sitting here staring like an idiot for what seems like ages.

“I -- um, that...might be nice?” he stumbles, and then panics because he doesn’t think that’s what meant to come out but it doesn’t seem he has much choice to take it back -- not that he particularly wants to anyway -- because Louis’ smiling at him, surprised, and he hikes himself up on his elbow.

“My foot doesn’t hurt _that_ bad,” Louis whispers, leaning down to the point where Harry can smell his minty breath, and suddenly his hands go clammy and his heart seems to stop a moment because Louis’ looming over him, eyes drooping closed the closer he gets and before he knows it, warm fingers are tucked under his chin, thumb running along his jaw, and then he feels Louis’ lips on his.

They’re warm; soft and pleasant against his and Harry’s own lips go tingly as Louis’ chest presses against his, whole body turning warm and jelly-like. He’s never felt quite so cozy and the fact that he’s never fucking kissed a boy before is the very last thing on his mind as Louis runs his tongue along his bottom lip.

He supposes if he had a bucket list, it would be time to cross ‘have another boy’s tongue in your mouth’ off.

Louis’ tongue is very definitely in Harry’s mouth, and Louis is a _very_ good kisser. Despite not having loads to compare him to, Harry may even go as far as saying this is his favorite kiss ever. It perhaps has something to do with the way Louis’ hand is running along his side, sliding up his t-shirt a little which results in some necessary skin-on-skin contact, or the way that Louis looks and smells and feels and the fact that he’s Louis.

Or something like that.

He’s almost slightly worried that his kissing isn’t quite up to par with Louis’, considering he doesn’t have the most extensive amount of experience in the world, but Louis’ actions suggest differently because he just keeps deepening it and Harry thinks if he was really that bad a kisser, Louis probably would have pulled back ages ago.

Perhaps the fact that he’s spending so much time thinking about such things has something to do with the kiss feeling way shorter than it’s actual thirty second span when Louis does pull away.

Quite frankly, Harry was not finished and he would appreciate it very much if Louis would lean the fuck back in.

Instead he just clears his throat and brings a hand up to run through his hair as Louis holds back a grin, heavy hand resting on his chest. It’s silent for a moment. “Uh, maybe you should...go turn off the light,” he suggests quietly, and Louis chuckles, but stands up nonetheless.

He spends the night facing the wall because he’s afraid Louis will be able to tell he can’t stop smiling if he doesn’t.

 

* * *

 

Harry was under the impression that there was no possible way he could ever sleep as uncomfortably as he did the first night he slept here, but he quickly discovers that he couldn’t have been more wrong.

He wakes up with his face squished against the wall and his arm wedged down the side of the mattress and he’s shivering due to lack of blanket which Louis has stolen during the night.

Though he must say, Louis also stole the pillow at some point in the night too and his neck feels the best it has in weeks.

Then he remembers that Louis is indeed sound asleep next to him, and soon after he remembers exactly what happened last night. He has to stare at Louis’ sleeping figure for a few minutes to make sure it wasn’t some weird dream he had in reaction to the cafeteria food.

He stares down at Louis for more than a few moments, if he’s fair, eyes squinted from the morning light, hair messy and disheveled. He must admit, he never imagined waking up next to such a sight.

The god damn trumpet rips through mid-stare and he adverts his attention before Louis’ opens his eyes because he’s not sure he can imagine anything more awkward to wake up to, and when he does, he just turns to Harry sleepily, stretches his arms above his head and offers a smile. “Mornin’ kiddo.”

Harry just nods, quietly waiting for Louis to move so he can get up and get dressed, and once he does, the walk down to the mess hall is silent. Harry wonders how long Louis will continue to act like last night didn’t happen but the thought drops when they meet up with the boys to play tennis. He’s not really sure what he wants Louis to say, anyway.

Liam claims Harry to be his partner because “tennis is kind of like volley ball except the ball is smaller and green and you use rackets and there’s two people instead of six -- maybe they’re not so close afterall” but nevertheless, he and Liam find themselves up against Louis and Zayn, Niall having wandered off to a different court to play with someone else.

Harry isn’t really sure of the rules of tennis and it doesn’t really seem like the rest of them know either so they generally just hit the ball back and fourth and yell things at each other when someone misses.

Unfortunately for him, Liam was foolish in assuming that volleyball and tennis correlate in any way because Harry’s pretty rubbish at tennis. He manages to hit two balls into the nearby pool, narrowly avoiding a group of twelve year old girls the first time and, unbeknownst to him, nailing one right in the head the second time. Liam can’t brag either because at some point during the game one of his balls somehow makes it all the way to Niall’s court.

“Doesn’t look like you two’ll be winning any world cups any time soon,” Louis decides cockily as the game draws to pointless close.

“There’s no world cup in tennis, you knobhead,” Liam rolls his eyes, tossing his racket into the pile of supplies of which Harry still isn’t sure the majority of it’s worth’s function. In fact, he’s surprised that Louis still hasn’t cracked a joke about tennis and country clubs yet. Such references seem to be a favorite of Louis' to make -- though he thinks he’s spoken too soon because a similar remark does come a few moments later.

“It’s all right, I’m sure you’re great at tennis on Xbox,” Louis teases, and this results in a round of laughter from the boys to which Harry simply rolls his eyes and tosses his racket into the pile to join the rest of the junk which he can’t identify. “Come on then, if we’re quick we can sneak in a cheeky hop in the lake before observations,” Louis suggests, and the boys seem keen but well, Harry still isn’t quite ready to be reacquainted with the lake just yet.

Nevertheless, he finds himself following the boys, who’ve re-acquired Niall along the way, to the rope swing at the edge of the lake. He’s not all that familiar with this area aside from seeing it briefly on the first day when Liam showed him around but to be honest, he’s still not very interested. Instead he decides to join Zayn who’s taken to having a seat on a massive nearby rock whilst the other three rip off their t-shirts.

“You aren’t havin’ a go?” Zayn wonders aloud, but Harry’s quick to shake his head, not entirely eager to tell the story of his last encounter with the lake. “Why not?”

“I had a bit of a run in with some seaweed the other day...” he explains quietly, not intent on giving much more detail. It was embarrassing enough to live through the first time. He can’t imagine the story becoming any more charming the second time around.

Fortunately for him, Zayn doesn’t press any further; just offers a nod and laughs when Louis jumps over the edge, dramatically flailing his limbs and eventually, landing with a huge splash. “Such a nutter.”

“He’s something,” Harry grins, subconsciously reminiscing over last night. He’s still slightly unsure what to think about the whole situation and what it actually meant. He tries to tell himself that sharing a kiss with someone doesn’t necessarily _have_ to mean anything, but somehow this seems to allude him, as still, through out the day he finds his thoughts drifting to packing Louis lunch for work and then scrubbing the kitchen floor in a waist apron and picking the kids up from school -- when did they have kids?

Better yet, why is _he_ the wife?

He’s beginning to frighten himself, if he’s entirely honest.

He doesn’t even fancy Louis and Louis doesn’t fancy him and kissing somebody _one_ time doesn’t mean anything. He supposes it’s just, well -- having someone who seems slightly interested in you is a nice thought. He just needn’t get ahead of himself.

“Come on, don’t be a bunch of babies!” he hears Louis’ voice from below, and he and Zayn both roll their eyes before standing up and walking to the ledge, glancing down to see the other three wading around staring up at them. “No seaweed here!” he shouts, and Harry’s face deepens to a ridiculous shade of red as Niall and Liam share a questioning glance. Thankfully before Louis has a chance to explain, a counselor is telling them off for being in the lake when nature observations start in five minutes and Harry breathes a sigh of relief.

The relief is short-lived, unfortunately for Harry.

He’s not quite sure what he assumed a ‘nature observation’ entailed, but for whatever reason, it wasn’t hiking through the forest to identify a multitude of plants from the leaf family. Nine specific types of leaves, to be precise.

He literally isn’t sure he’s ever done something so ridiculous in his sixteen years of being. 

His head really starts to spin when the instructor starts rambling on about stomata and photosynthesis. What has he done to deserve this?

“Is this an oak leaf?”

“Niall you’ve picked that one up six times now, it’s still not an oak leaf.”

This is how the majority of the leaf segment pans out and Harry never thought he could be so relieved to hear the instructor say that they’re moving onto beetles. As it turns out, Liam seems to be deathly afraid of any creature that walks on more than four legs and rather than collect the respective species in the containers provided, Louis opts to shove them into Liam’s face or dangle them over his head instead.

He gets told off three times before the instructor’s finally had enough of his antics and tells their group to go back to their respective cabins.

Harry wishes he knew how easy it was to get out of this nature observation earlier because if he had, he would have purposely gotten into trouble before they made it to the compound leaf subsection. That was when it really started going downhill.

He’s not very bothered about getting into trouble if he’s honest because as the five of them make their way back to the campgrounds, it appears there really isn’t anyone around and having the place to themselves really doesn’t seem like all that much of a punishment.

But of course not, because the real punishment doesn’t come until later that night when they’re showing a film in the mess hall and every person on the campgrounds will be there.

Except the five of them.

They've had their film privileges prohibited for the night and Harry has half a mind to kick Louis in the teeth because this film was perhaps what he was wholeheartedly counting on to keep him sane over the next few weeks.

He never quite realized the unhealthy attachment he had to his television until it was gone.

“This is rubbish, I’m never being in your group for anything again,” Niall pouts as he plops onto one of the logs around the firepit.

It seems the feeling is mutual all around as they each plop onto their own respective logs; all except for Louis who lets out a ‘pft’, hands on his hips. “We don’t need any stupid film. If anything I’ve done you all a favor. Look, now we’ve got the firepit all to ourselves,” he points out, tossing a stick into the pile of logs in the center of the circle.

“Yeah and no way to light it. Idiot,” Zayn mumbles offhandedly, and everyone laughs; all, again, except for Louis, who doesn’t seem amused.

“Sod off,” he mumbles, “I’ll be right back.”

Louis disappears for a few moments which start filled with a sigh of relief from Liam. “I swear trouble follows that kid. I told myself years ago I’d quit hanging around him.”

Harry grins. “How’s that working out for you?”

Liam just lets out another sigh and stares down at the ground; kicks a pebble with his shoe, defeated. “He’s rubbed off on me slightly more than I care to admit.”

Harry glances around, expecting one of the other boys to have a go at him. They seem equally defeated and this leads Harry to assume that Louis has had the same effect on them. This only worries him mildly. For now.

Louis returns with a book of matches in hand and rather than question their acquisition, they just let out a sigh of relief as he tosses some dry leaves in with the branches, and then sets them ablaze. “Ta-da.”

Harry absently thinks that Louis would fare quite well on one of those survival skill TV programs, but on second thought perhaps he’s just good at sneaking and/or charming his way into and out of sticky situations. He can’t even light a fire with out matches.

“Right then boys,” he starts as he settles onto his log, kicking his legs out in front of him. “No need to thank me all at once.”

“Wasn’t planning on it,” Zayn mutters, and a quiet round of laughter sounds before Louis’ quick to change the subject.

“Hey Harry, did you know someone died here once?”

In response to this statement, the other three roll their eyes obscenely and Niall offers a “Louis, shut up.”

“No, I mean it!” Louis repositions himself on his log, sitting up straight so the fire’s reflection is flickering on his face. It’s getting dark out and the contrast brings Harry back to being seven years old and watching horror films with his dad in the basement, and then being too scared to go to bed alone, and then his mum would yell at his dad for ‘letting such a young boy watch that rubbish’ but then they’d do the same thing the next weekend.

Harry is not seven anymore, and he is very aware that a deranged river monster is not going to slither through the trees and decapitate him with a rusted butter knife, but despite this, he still get’s a shiver when Louis leans forward, gaining a serious disposition as he speaks.

“Yeah like back in the eighties. Drowned in the river. Never found the body though,” he shrugs, trying his very hardest to remain casual due to the fact that no one seems to be believing his story. No one is humoring him, either.

“Louis that’s rubbish, that did not happen,” Liam defends, but Louis just shrugs again.

“That’s fine if you don’t believe me. I just figured I oughta warn Harry; y’know, that way in case you ever feel anything grab your foot in the river again you’ll know. Maybe next time instead of seaweed it’ll be Mary,” he smirks cockily, in a manner that is trying very hard to say ‘you’ll be thanking me later’.

Rather than Louis’ warning, Harry’s thankful for the darkness falling around them as his cheeks grow red, being reminded of the most painfully embarrassing encounter that he’s ever experienced for the second time today.

“Mary?! Who the bloody fuck is Mary?” Niall chimes in, making it very clear that he nor the other boys have ever heard a word of this story, and that Louis is not very convincing. Not that Harry believed it or anything anyway.

“Mary, she’s the girl who drowned,” Louis explains matter-of-factly, and Zayn just rolls his eyes yet again.

“Where do you come up with this rubbish?” he wonders. “Does it just come to you on the spot or do you actually plan these things out?”

Louis just shrugs the boys off, crossing his arms. “You can laugh all you want but I’m not making anything up. Why should I? You remember Christopher, don’t you?”

“Christopher? You mean from cabin twelve?” Liam asks confusedly, unsure of how this relates to the story in any matter.

“Yeah, that’s the one. Tell me, Liam,” Louis begins condescendingly, “Have you seen dear Christopher around this year?”

“Louis,” Liam begins rationally, “Christopher said he was never coming back because he had anxiety and you gave him panic attacks.”

Harry can’t help but laugh this time, and Niall joins in too, and the look on Louis’ face isn’t helping the matter; he’s looking slightly offended that Liam is doubting him, eyebrows raised and arms crossed, staring into the fire.

“I’ll have you know, Liam, that _I_ was not the one giving poor Christopher panic attacks,” Louis straightens himself out, sitting up and smoothing the wrinkles in his t-shirt. “It’s not my fault he didn’t want to believe that _Mary_ was the one tapping on his window every night.”

Liam just rolls his eyes. “All right, whatever Lou, you win. You’re getting weird now, I think you’re creeping Harry out.”

All eyes land on Harry, who’s subconsciously taken to bringing his knees into his chest and resting his chin atop them, curled into a ball slightly reminiscent of a rolly-poley bug; much like the one Louis tried to shove up Liam’s nose earlier. “I’m not scared,” he defends, though he must admit he doesn’t sound very convincing, even to himself. Anyway, it’s not like he _believes_ Louis’ story. The boys’ expressions are enough to tell him it’s a load of shit.

It’s just that there’s something slightly unsettling about sitting around a fire in the dark to begin with, and all this talk of drowning and tapping on windows has left him slightly on edge.

“He’s lying through his teeth,” Zayn offers, and Harry just shakes his head.

“Really, I’m not scared.”

“It’s all right, Harry,” Louis interjects, “I’d be scared if I were you too.”

“I’m not scared!” a third time, but he can tell by this point that nobody’s buying it.

“All right, all right, we’ll drop it,” Louis responds to Liam’s stern glare, “I’m just saying. Watch your back.”

“Sure, Louis, whatever you say,” Niall rolls his eyes.

Harry wonders if at any point in his life Louis’ grown tired of how often people roll their eyes at him or if he’s used to it by now.

The subject of conversation quickly turns to guinea pigs and the thought of Mary dissipates. Louis thinks it’s not worth it to have a guinea pig if you don’t name it Robert. (“What if it’s a girl?” “Roberta.”)

Louis is offended when Niall calls him stupid and goes off in a strop to find marshmallows.

Meanwhile Liam consoles Niall and tells him that Rudolph is a great name for a guinea pig, no matter what Louis says, and then conversation turns to the jog tomorrow morning and how much they’re all dreading it; all except Liam who’s on his school’s track team and ‘quite enjoys a nice jog in the morning’.

Harry thinks this is a load of shit.

“You’re mental. The only thing I wanna be doing at six in the morning is sleeping,” Harry chimes in, and Niall agrees.

“Yeah have fun runnin’ on your own, I’m faking sick.”

Liam rolls his eyes at this. “God forbid-”

But he’s cut off when something wet and slimy lands in Harry’s lap. It takes him all but a few seconds to realize this is seaweed, and then a few more seconds to build up the courage to turn and face the source.

He’s frightened for roughly three and a half seconds before he unmistakably identifies the figure standing a few meters behind him as Louis...dripping wet and covered in mud and leaves.

“Louis what the hell are you doing?”

At this, Louis groans and stomps and Liam can’t contain his laughter. “You weren’t supposed to be able to tell it was me!”

Zayn just shakes his head in disbelief and rolls his eyes. “That was pretty weak, mate.”

Louis just lets out a heavy sigh, hands on his hips as he, too, shakes his head in disbelief. “I thought I’d get you for sure,” he says to Harry. “You looked like you were near ready to crawl into my lap when I was telling that story.”

Harry’s face grows red once more as he rolls his eyes and turns back to the fire. “I told you I wasn’t scared.”

“S’good look for you, anyway,” Niall offers, motioning toward the piles of nature Louis has rolled around in.

“Thanks,” he grins, brushing a bug off his top. “I call it ‘drowned in a lake chic’.”

The boys laugh but Harry just rolls his eyes once more, and pushes Louis away when he tries to engulf him in a muddy, wet, slimy hug.

In fact, he doesn’t let Louis within a ten meter radius of him until he’s showered and gotten dressed. “Come on, at least admit you were a little scared. Just a tiny bit. And I’ll leave you alone,” Louis decides as he paces around their room, pulling a fresh t-shirt over his head.

Harry just shakes his head, sliding into his bed. “I told you Louis, I wasn’t scared.”

“You were just a little bit,” Louis tries once more, taking a seat in his usual chair by the desk a few meters across the room.

“Sorry, no.”

“For even a split second? Not even when I first started the story?” he wonders sadly, and Harry maybe feels a little guilty at the pout he’s putting on.

He shrugs, offering a grin. “Maybe a tiny bit. Just for a second.”

Louis is beaming, and in an instant his smile is lighting up the room. “I knew it. That was a good one, you have to admit.”

Harry shrugs, contemplative look possessing his features. He can’t say he’s ever met someone else willing to jump in a river and then roll around in mud all for the sake of a joke. Hats off to him. “Not bad.”

“Well then,” Louis stands, “I suppose it would only be gentlemanly of me to protect you from the river monsters; ya’ know, considering I’m the one who made them up,” he grins, perching himself on the edge of Harry’s bed.

Harry rolls his eyes. “That’s okay, Lou, I think I’ll live.”

“I don’t want you to be scared,” Louis argues pulling the pillow over and out from under Harry’s head.

“Louis, I wasn’t-”

“Move over.”

With this, he’s settling into the mattress next to Harry, squirming under the duvet and resting his head on the pillow.

Harry groans. “Turn off the light,” he mumbles grumpily, not overly pleased about the idea of sharing a bed with Louis tonight, especially because, despite having showered, he’s just rolled around in mud, and also because Harry was practically eaten alive by the bugs tonight and he can’t stop itching; having Louis next to him constricts his space and he’s not very happy about it.

Louis huffs as he tosses the duvet off himself, standing from the bed. “You know you could remind me of that _before_ I get comfy,” he complains, walking over to flick the light switch.

“Well I didn’t exactly invite you to sleep here, if you don’t recall,” Harry reminds him, furiously scratching at his calf.

This leads to Louis’ confusion as he walks back over and slides into bed. “What are you doing? Stop moving around so much, sit still.”

“I can’t,” Harry utters through clenched teeth. “I’m covered in mosquito bites, thanks to you. And you never even found any marshmallows. This night was rubbish,” he decides.

Louis doesn’t have much to say for himself, other than, “I’ll scratch them if you want.”

Harry’s movements halt in the darkness and he looks over at his bed companion for the night to find him staring right back. “Louis that’s disgusting.”

Louis just shrugs as if he’s not very bothered and lets out a yawn. “What are friends for?”

Harry rolls his eyes, and then rolls over to face the wall. “Go to sleep.”

“Whatever you say,” Louis mumbles tiredly. “N’night, my love.”

If Harry’s eyes weren’t closed he’d certainly by rolling them now, trying to will away the blush that’s taken over his face as he grins. “Night,” he mumbles in return, and within moments he’s nodded off, Louis trailing closely behind.

 

* * *

 


	2. part two

When Harry wakes up he decides to donate his pillow to Louis. He figures he must have somehow become accustomed to them in the past six years -- and Harry highly doubts they’ve been replaced in that time -- because he really doesn’t seem to mind them.

Harry, on the other hand, has woken up pillowless and smushed into the wall yet again, but feeling the best he has in weeks; though that may have something to do with the fact that Louis’ arm is draped across his waist, and his chest is pressed against Harry’s very own back.

He can practically feel Louis’ heartbeat against his shoulder blades. He would even go as far as to say that they’re _spooning_. This excites him slightly more than it should.

It doesn’t last long anyhow, because once the trumpet is blaring through the campgrounds, Louis practically rolls off the bed before catching himself, which results in a slow-fall-sort-of-kneeling-on-the-floor situation. Harry stares at him a moment and chuckles.

“You better wipe that smirk off your face,” Louis threatens with a yawn as he stands, stretching in the sunlight cascading across the room from the window.

Harry just smiles, burying his face back into his pillow, in hopes of only rolling out of bed at the very last second possible.

The five minutes in which the morning started well are soon forgotten as Harry and Louis join the rest of the group for the morning run. Niall wasn’t kidding when he said he was faking sick, and Harry’s not far from considering doing the same however he feels it may not fair well considering he’d pulled that card a couple days earlier, not to mention Louis probably wouldn’t allow him to anyway.

“I’ll race you,” Louis bets as they make their way to the track, and Harry nearly rolls his eyes at the ridiculousness because he very highly doubts he could last five minutes keeping up with Louis in a run.

“Why in the world would I agree to that?”

Louis shrugs. “Figured you’d wanna try and redeem yourself at some point.”

Harry’s eye brows go up and a round of ‘oooooo’s sound from Liam and Zayn. “I don’t feel the need to redeem myself, thank you very much,” Harry decides.

“Well how about a bet then?” Louis offers, and Harry’s eyes narrow, confused as to why having a race seems so necessary to Louis.

“Why?”

Louis ignores this question and instead responds with, “I win, you owe me one, you win, I owe you one.” 

“One what?” Harry questions, glancing toward Zayn and Liam in hopes that maybe they have any idea what Louis’ on about. They seem to have lost interest by this point and aren’t paying attention anymore.

“Anything,” he shrugs.

Harry considers this a moment, and though he doesn’t have one grain of confidence that he will come anywhere close to winning this race, he agrees anyhow because he has a feeling that if he doesn’t, Louis probably won’t stop bugging him about it.

They shake hands before heading to the starting line, and Harry’s tempted to throw in the towel before he even starts because he highly doubts he can even make it through four laps in one piece, let alone ahead of Louis, but he just shrugs it off as Louis counts down and they’re off.

Harry’s impressed with himself for keeping up speed through the entire first lap with out even getting tired, and he even stays ahead of Louis for a little while, but once he’s on the second, and especially the third, he feels like his lungs are about to explode. “You win,” he calls ahead to Louis, who’s a few meters ahead of him.

Louis pauses in his tracks a moment and turns to face Harry. “Don’t give up, you’re doing well! Plus I won’t be able to say I beat you fairly if you don’t finish.”

Harry just rolls his eyes. “I’m gonna go with them,” he motions over his shoulder toward Zayn and Liam who are keeping a steady somewhere in between power-walking-and-jogging pace which seems much more pleasant at the moment than this.

“Fine then. Knew you couldn’t keep up,” he smirks cockily, and turns to resume his sprint, leaving Harry in the dust.

For some reason, despite the obvious exhaustion that’s taken over him, these words are Harry’s motivator and rather than slowing to join Zayn and Liam, who are only on their second lap, he speeds up, in a desperate attempt to catch up with Louis.

He tries, really.

Unfortunately he doesn’t get closer than ten meters in Louis’ trail at any point and by the time Louis finishes the fourth lap, he’s only a third of the way through.

But he _tried_ , god dammit, anyway, at least Louis won’t be able to hold that against him.

“Took you long enough, mate,” Louis offers when Harry finally crosses the finish, extending his hand for a high five.

Harry doubles over, hands on his knees to catch his breath, but still manages to find time to roll his eyes at Louis. “This was your idea, not mine.”

“Yeah,” Louis shrugs, “And now you owe me one. See how clever I am?” he smirks, reaching over to ruffle Harry’s fussed up, not so pleasantly sweat dampened hair

Breathing finally evened out, he stands up straight and looks over at Louis. “You mean you only wanted to race because you knew I’d lose?”

“Well when you put it that way...”

Harry rolls his eyes once more. He can’t exactly say he’s surprised. “What do I owe you, then?”

Louis shrugs. “Haven’t decided yet. It’ll be good though,” he winks, and then claps his hand to Harry’s shoulder before running off for a shower.

Harry’s certain that his slight worry is justified.''

 

The bet is promptly forgotten about as Harry, Zayn and Liam cool off by the pool and Harry’s pleased that this is really one of the first times he’s spent with either of them with out Louis but they’re seeming to treat him as one of their own anyway.

“Surprised Louis hasn’t drove you up a wall yet,” Liam comments as they sit on the edge, dangling their feet through the warm water.

Harry chuckles. “He’s not far from it.”

“Has he started sleeping naked yet?” Zayn wonders from the other side of Liam, and Harry’s eyes grow wide a moment before responding.

“I...No?”

Liam laughs. “Don’t worry he will. Once it starts getting hotter out.”

Because of course Harry was just  _so_  worried that he’d have to spend the summer with a normal, fully clothed roommate.

“That’s why his roommate last year switch cabins,” Zayn explains casually, allowing his feet to drift about and Harry’s a little unsure as to what he’s gotten himself into. He just lets out a nervous laugh.

“At least you’re never bored with him, are you,” Liam adds with a chuckle, splashing some water over toward Zayn on his left side, which leads to a brief water splashing fight between the two in which Harry’s mind wanders to whether or not Louis’ told them how they’ve shared a bed the past two nights and how they just so happened to kiss, one of them. He wonders if they’d be weirded out or something or if they’re used to it.

Harry wonders if this is some normal thing with Louis and he’s just another roommate passing through, or if maybe Louis gets the same silly butterflies as Harry does.

He’s broken from his thoughts when Liam stands, shaking his feet off and straightening out his top. “Should we go see how Niall’s fairing?”

Zayn starts laughing, and Harry’s feeling a bit lost. “What happened to Niall?” he wonders, standing in suit of the other two.

“He faked sick,” Liam explains, “a bit _too_ sick...He made his temperature read 107 by standing under a light for ten minutes.”

“And they stuck him in the infirmary,” Zayn finishes, as Harry notices he often finds Zayn and Liam doing for each other.

Harry chuckles. “Can we go see him?”

“If they’ve not quarantined him yet for having a diabolical fever,” Liam laughs as they wander on their way to the infirmary. Harry’s never been there, nor does he plan on it, but he figures it’s probably not very wise that he didn’t take it upon himself to discover it’s location at some point before three weeks in.

“Buddy!” Zayn exclaims upon spotting Niall within seconds of walking in.

It’s not very difficult to do so, considering amidst the few cots lined up along the wall, Niall is the only one in the room. He shoots up and quickly looks back toward the nurses office to make sure the doors closed before speaking. “Fucks sake you guys gotta get me out of here,” he begs.

Liam laughs. “You’re the one who got yourself into this mess.”

“I know,” Niall whines, “but I didn’t know it’d be this bad. I’m gonna go mental.”

Liam takes a seat on the cot to the left of Niall while Zayn stretches out on the one to the right. Harry stands awkwardly at the foot of the cot Niall’s splayed out on before eventually deciding on sitting at the edge. “Perhaps you’ll remember this the next time you wanna get out of a run,” Liam adds sensibly, to which Niall simply rolls his eyes.

He glances around, as if just now noticing one’s missing from the bunch. “Where’s Lou?”

Liam and Zayn both glance toward Harry, considering he’d finished with Louis while they were laps behind. “Shower, I think,” he mumbles, but Niall just nods before the thought is quickly abandoned.

“You’ve at least gotta get me some food,” he begs, pleadingly staring into Liam’s eyes with a pout which would seem fit to a six year old.

“Surely they can’t be starving you,” Liam tries, reaching across to ever-so-motherly push a few strands of hair away from Niall’s forehead. The groan he earns in response seems fitting.

“I just want chocolate cake,” he complains, staring pathetically into his lap, and Harry’s really not sure whether to laugh or feel sorry for him.

Liam simply rolls his eyes but Zayn opts for the second option and reaches out, squeezing Niall’s shoulder. “We’ll get you chocolate cake.”

“We can’t take food out of the cafeteria,” Liam reminds him; a rule which Louis informed Harry of their first visit there. It had been put into place a few years prior during a horrible racoon incident which Louis really didn’t seem to want to get into. Harry can only imagine why.

“Then we’ll just have to sneak it out.”

 

When Zayn suggests they sneak it out Harry doesn’t realize that he actually means shoving it under Liam’s top with out warning and apparently Liam doesn’t, either.

However, as it turns out, the moment they approach the door, cake in hand thinking they’re home free, they spot a counselor nearby and Zayn seems to panic and his only logic thought is to shove the plate under Liam’s shirt.

Much to the dismay of Liam.

He just looks at Zayn, eyes wide and eyebrows knitter together, holding the lump under his shirt as to not allow it to fall to the ground. There’s no turning back at this point, he figures, once he’s already got cake in his shirt.

“What the hell’s wrong with you?” Liam mutters, pulling the plate out the moment they’re back in the fresh air. “He’s not gonna want this,” he holds it up, now lop sided and smushed, t-shirt clinging to his abs where the frosting on the inside acts as a glue.

“I think you’re forgetting who we’re dealing with,” Zayn offers, pulling the plate away from Liam, who’s left staring down at his now chocolate-frosting-stained t-shirt, holding it away from his frame by the hem as to not make even more of a mess of his bare stomach than he already as, or rather, Zayn has.

Harry doesn’t have much to offer other than the laughter he tries holding back, which simply earns a grin and an eye roll from Liam when he notices this, and then they both make their way to catch up with Zayn, who’s already making his way through the woods; a shortcut, Liam explains, so they don’t get caught bringing food out of the cafeteria.

“Do you think he’ll mind that we forgot a fork?” Zayn wonders as they trail closer, breaking the silence that’d fallen over them a few moments before.

Liam scoffs and rolls his eyes. “If you don’t think he’ll mind that half of it’s on the inside of my top I don’t know why you think he’d mind that we forgot --”

Then, silence.

And Harry’s not quite sure why Liam’s stopped talking and he doesn’t realize what it is that both Zayn and Liam’s eyes are fixed on until he hears the leaves crunch and then he sees it; a racoon. It’s just staring at them, beady little eyes scanning them, and more than likely the cake they’re holding.

Harry blinks, before quietly whispering, “What do we do?”

Zayn just slowly glances back at him, offers a shrug and turns back.

This is when Liam finally decides to break his silence, chest rising and falling slowly at the fact that they’re practically standing meters away from it and it’s not running away. “Racoons don’t come out during the day. Zayn,” he clasps Zayn’s shoulder, leaning closer to whisper, “What if it’s got rabies?”

Cue Harry bringing a hand to his forehead, letting out a sigh and muttering, “Oh, god...” before glancing over his shoulder to see if he can make a run for it before he’s attacked by a rabid woodland creature. He knew he shouldn’t have done this; never should have given into peer pressure. His mother taught him better than this. It’s what he gets for misbehaving, he absently thinks as he begins to ponder what he believes to be the last few moments of life.

Zayn seems to be reading his very thoughts because not a moment later he turns to the boys and whispers, “On the count of three...”

Liam shakes his head, clutching Zayn’s bicep to the point where Harry will be extraordinarily surprised if it’s not bruised by tomorrow. “If we run it’ll chase us.”

Harry’s thankful that at least someone seemed to be paying attention during nature observations.

“Just drop the cake,” Liam finally decides. “That’s what it wants.”

“But Niall --” Zayn tries, however Liam does not allow him to finish.

“Zayn, drop it,” he orders.

Harry’s noticed that most of the boys tend to take orders from Liam so he’s really not very surprised when Zayn clears his throat, slowly reaching down to place the paper plate on the ground in front of him. “Here you go,” he offers, nudging it forward slightly with his scuffed up tennis shoe.

He begins to back away slowly, and Harry and Liam follow suit before they all turn and begin sprinting full speed back to the campground, suggesting that perhaps they’d come into contact with something slightly more threatening than a racoon. Nevertheless, they’re all met with relief when they gather by the fire pit, only it’s short lived as they all sort of come to the realization that they don’t have anything to bring poor Niall.

Zayn scratches his head. “They probably won’t let him out ‘till tomorrow morning. Maybe he’ll forget?”

Liam shakes his head. “Doubt it.”

They both look toward Harry, as if waiting for him to offer some sort of suggestion. Considering he still doesn’t really know Niall all that well, he doesn’t have many suggestions to offer, so he simply shrugs. “We could blame it on Louis?”

A matching grin appears on each of their faces before Zayn slaps a hand to Harry’s shoulder. “I like the way you think.”

Harry of course doesn’t mention this to Louis when he returns to his cabin a short while later to find the boy in question sprawled across Harry’s very own mattress.

“Where have you been?” Louis questions casually, glancing at the door a moment before turning his attention back the wall.

Harry shrugs, shutting the door behind him. “Around.”

Louis sits up, hands perched on the edge of the bed. He snickers. “Well look at you.”

Harry just rolls his eyes and steps into the room; this is when he gets a good look at Louis; clad in a pair of cargo shorts, bare stomach and chest freshly sun tanned. “Why are you on my bed?”

“I was waiting for you,” Louis explains, “I’ve decided what it is that you owe me.”

Harry quirks a brow, taking a few steps closer. “And what would that be?”

“A massage!” Louis explains happily, hurriedly flopping over so he’s laying on his stomach, cuddling his face into the pillow and letting his eyes slide closed as if Harry’s already gotten to work.

Harry’s face screws up slightly. “I’m not giving you a massage, Louis.”

Louis lifts his head from the pillow, features filled with dismay. “But you owe me!” he exclaims, and Harry knows this is one of those times where if he doesn’t simply agree, Louis won’t let it go for ages, so he just lets out a defeated sigh and walks over to take a seat on the edge of the mattress, making sure to keep a reasonable distance between he and the other lump of a body which has taken residency on _his_  bed.

He reaches his hands out a few times before ultimately drawing them back each time, unsure of how or where to start, and he’s left scratching his head and staring down at Louis’ bare, muscular back because he’s never given anyone a _massage_  before and he’s really not sure what he’s doing.

“Well go on then,” Louis speaks up, glancing over his shoulder in confusion.

“I don’t know how,” Harry explains quietly, feeling slightly silly at the look Louis gives him afterwards.

“What d’you mean you don’t know how? It’s not very difficult. Just go on.”

With this he settles back into the pillow, and Harry really doesn’t have much a choice now but to just go for it, so he does; reaches out and places his hands over Louis’ upper back, thumbs resting against his shoulder blades. His skin feels warm and clean and Harry can’t help but think back to the night when they shared a kiss because more than anything, Harry just wants to lean down and press his lips to every inch of Louis. He can’t help it; Louis’ just got this warm and inviting thing about him. Even his fucking  _skin_  radiates it.

Harry refuses to admit that this isn’t the first time he’s questioned if Louis is actually human or not.

It’s actually the third.

Anyway, he starts to get the hang of this massage thing after a little while, kneading his long, thin fingers into the kinks in Louis’ muscles, emitting some sort of noise equivalent to a grunt from him every so often, and after some time he even cockily gets the thought that he must be pretty good at this.

This is before he realizes that surely it can’t be very easy to be  _bad_  at this considering the simplicity of what it actually is that he’s doing, but still.

“You’re gonna put me to sleep, Harry,” Louis mumbles into the pillow sleepily, breaking the silence that Harry hadn’t even really taken into consideration until now.

“Is that a good thing?” he asks quietly, grin sneaking it’s way onto his lips before he adverts his concentration back to the body which his hands are so happily occupying.

“Very good.”

Harry’s actually slightly surprised at this because from what he’s observed Louis doesn’t typically go tossing around compliments unless they’re sarcastic or, well, more times than not, highly inappropriate and if he’s honest he was expecting one of the two. Perhaps Louis’ humor doesn’t shine to it’s full potential when he’s half asleep; though Harry can’t say he’d be surprised if it did.

“Does that mean I can stop now?” Harry teases; truthfully he’s not even all that eager to stop. Though that’s kind of strange because it’s probably not normal to enjoy rubbing your mates’ backs but oh well, he’s wondering how much longer this can go on before it gets awkward or Louis actually falls asleep anyway so he should probably stop at  _some_ point.

“If you must,” Louis lets out a sigh, contorting and twisting onto his side in a way which Harry finds completely unnecessary considering it nearly knocks him off the edge of the bed, and sits up, running a hand through his hair. Harry isn’t really sure whether to laugh or perhaps become aroused. “I hope you realize that now I know you’re so good at that, I’m making you do it  _all_  the time.”

“I refuse,” Harry spouts quickly, resettling himself on the bed now that he has enough space to actually move on his own mattress. He’s still weary about calling it a mattress.

“How perfect would a good film be right now,” Louis sighs reminiscently, leaning back against the wall with his head behind his hands, staring longingly into the distance. Harry doesn’t think they need a TV because Louis does a pretty good job at acting like a dramatic idiot himself.

Though he’d still enjoy a TV.

“Could you imagine? Popcorn, chocolate,  _The Notebook_  and a good back rub...”

“ _The Notebook_?” Harry asks in disbelief, “Louis if we had a TV there’s no way in hell we’d be watching  _The Notebook_.”

“Why not?” Louis looks highly offended, and if Harry didn’t know any better he might actually assume that Louis had some part in writing the damn thing. “ _The Notebook_  is an incredible film, one of the bests! Anyone with eyes and half a brain knows that. You have seen it, haven’t you?”

Harry’s eyebrows knit together as confusion overtakes the remainder of his features. “Why would I have seen  _The Notebook_?”

“Harry!” Louis exclaims, and his tone suggests that the situation at hand is life or death and Harry actually seems alarmed for a moment before he remembers this is Louis he’s dealing with and if there’s one thing Louis is excellent at -- aside from everything else in the god damn world -- it’s dramatics. “You haven’t lived until you’ve seen  _The Notebook_.”

Louis proceeds to explain the entire movie in excruciating detail and the amount of time it actually takes to explain it must be longer than the film itself, Harry figures, because he finds it growing dark out as he listens to Louis ramble on about turning into birds and a house with shudders and he really doesn’t see the appeal, not until at the end when he adds, “We’ll have to watch it some time.”

Despite the fact that he really doesn’t need to see the film now that he practically knows each of the character’s lives in and out, this remark entirely suggests that Louis plans on seeing Harry after they leave.

And that confuses him just a little bit, because they don’t live all that close to each other and they’ve barely known each other a few weeks and Harry has a hard time believing Louis would really go through all that trouble to see him once they leave.

Though _The Notebook_  is a topic that Louis seems to take very seriously and at some point he mentions that it’s his life mission to make sure everyone’s seen it so maybe that has something to do with it.

Harry thinks it sounds a bit overrated but what does he know.

All he says is, “I prefer horror films,” and Louis leaves.

 

* * *

 

It’s particularly difficult to get out of bed the next morning, and in fact it’s the same way the next few mornings because Harry keeps finding himself waking up wrapped in Louis’ limbs in a way that should be extraordinarily uncomfortable but because it’s Louis, Harry really doesn’t mind. He does find himself wondering what exactly it was that he said or did to make Louis think it was perfectly acceptable to sleep with him every night with out asking, but considering he sort of enjoys it, he won’t bother bringing it up.

It’s a Saturday in particular the first time they have a nice long lie in together. Louis’ awake and Harry can tell but Louis can’t tell that Harry’s awake, which makes for a slightly uncomfortable few minutes because Harry’s really unsure as to whether or not make Louis aware of the fact that he’s been awake for a while now.

It’s just that every time he opens his mouth to speak Louis nuzzles his nose into the back of his hair or runs his thumb across his hip and Harry figures if Louis’ enjoying this he’ll let it go on just a little while longer. He may be enjoying it just a tiny bit too, but that’s beside the point, really.

It seems after a while though, Louis seems to let out a chuckle every now and again, and sooner or later he realizes he’s been caught. “Harry I know you’re awake.”

Harry’s eyes pop open to be greeted with the goddamn wooden wall that he wakes up to every morning and a slight blush creeps over his face. “Not for long,” he replies defensively, turning over so he’s facing Louis.

Louis smiles sweetly; literally Harry thinks he’s possibly just acquired a cavity or three, and brings a hand up to ruffle curly hair. “Just admit it, you like cuddling with me.”

“I haven’t really got much a choice, have I?” Harry grins cockily, “You’ve taken to my bed every night with out my permission.”

Louis flashes a cheeky grin, showing his teeth and laughing. “You just like the feeling of my willy against your back,” he decides, and Harry’s -- well, at a bit of a loss for words, as he often finds himself these days, despite the fact that he’s sort of growing used to it at this point, so he just brings a hand up to scratch his forehead and glances back at the wall.

Louis laughs and stands up to get dressed.

Harry absentmindedly glances around the room in order to not let his eyes land on Louis pulling his shirt over his head and instead they land on the calendar hung above the desk; Louis must be marking off the dates with out him noticing because if he’s honest he didn’t even realize they had a calendar until now.

It’s mid July.

Harry supposes he sort of lost track of time these past couple weeks, what with adjusting and meeting everyone and settling in, because it doesn’t feel like he’s already been here a month. The strangest part is that he’s spent all this time getting comfortable with Louis but he still feels like he has so much more to learn and that they have so much more to talk about and his stay is already over a third of the way through.

It’s not just Louis, either. His other friends he’s made here, too; Niall and Liam and Zayn and that kid who sometimes sits with them in the cafeteria -- Harry can’t remember his name so he figures he musn’t be too important in regards to the group dynamic, but perhaps he could learn it given time -- and it dawns on him, too, that he hasn’t thought much about his parents or his friends at home and he finds himself wondering how they’re doing. If they’re having fun with out him.

“Aren’t you gonna come meet up with the boys?” Louis wonders, breaking Harry from his thoughts, who’s still lying lazily across his bed, Louis having gotten fully dressed and groomed in the time Harry’d spent day dreaming.

They’ve all sort of fallen into a routine on Saturdays of meeting up to get breakfast and then heading over to the football pitch before anyone else can hog it and they play until lunch and Louis teaches Harry like he promised he would -- Harry still can’t say he’s noticed much of a difference in his performance but at least he’s trying -- and then once they’re through with lunch they hang around by the lake, though both Harry and Zayn still refuse to actually get in it.

Harry feels like they’ve been doing this ages now when in reality it’s actually only his fourth Saturday here, and he has a hard time wrapping his mind about the fact that it’s been one stupid month and he already feels as though he’s made a new goddamn family, at the risk of sounding extraordinarily cheesy.

“Yeah, just a minute,” he mumbles, and then is also met with the confusion that stems from the fact that despite them having spent nearly twenty four hours a day together for the past month, he still gets undeniably nervous around Louis and that’s got his brain in a twist, too.

This place is fucking  _weird_.

Louis grows impatient while Harry digs through his bag for  _something_  that hasn’t been worn three times already and offers a, “meet you down there,” as he makes his way toward the door. “And Harry?”

 Harry glances up from his bag toward the doorway where Louis’ leaning. “Hm?”

“I was just joking about what I said earlier but considering you didn’t defend yourself I’m just gonna assume it’s true,” he winks, and before Harry truly has a chance to defend himself -- the second time, anyway -- he’s off.

If Harry was in the position to say something he’d be left speechless yet again but considering he’s alone, he just sighs instead and rolls his eyes at Louis despite Louis being out the door by this point and finishes getting dressed to meet the boys at the cafeteria.

He tries really hard to ignore the fact that Louis wont stop staring at him all morning but it’s to no avail, considering it doesn’t seem as though he’s the only one who notices, and when Niall mumbles, “Louis I’m over here” at the end of his long winded story which Louis hasn’t seemed to pay one drop of attention to, Harry’s suspicions are confirmed.

He’s terribly sweaty by the time he ends up back in the cabin and Louis’ quick to point it out despite the fact that he may be ten times sweatier. “You reek. Go have a shower.”

Harry’s eyebrows knit together. “So do you.”

“Well if you’re suggesting that we save some water for the fishies --”

“I’m not,” Harry assures Louis before he can go any further. He feels fairly confident in the fact that he’s getting more used to Louis’ wise cracks and now he can shoot them down before he even finishes.

“C’mon,” Louis grins softly, taking a seat on Harry’s bed next to him. He crosses his legs, smile melting Harry’s own heart into a sticky puddle of goo. He’s can’t say he’s ever met a boy over the age of four who was able to destroy him completely with one single facial expression so he figures if there’s at least one thing he’s gotten out of this trip, there’s that.

And a new found knowledge of marshmallow roasting.

“Louis, I’m not showering with you,” Harry states firmly, and Louis laughs before continuing.

“I don’t mean  _that_ ,” he explains, and the expression on Harry’s face reads slightly confused for a moment before Louis lifts his hand and lightly let’s it fall to run his fingertips over the hole in the knee of Harry’s jeans. He glances up, face softening at Harry’s furrowed brow. “Don’t I get a second kiss? Or do I have to meet the parents first?”

It’s this precise sentence that flows through Harry and promptly rips him from this silly little fantasy world and shoots him straight back into reality.

Suddenly he thinks about all the times his step dad calls all the football players pansies when they slap each other’s bums, even though it’s just in good fun, and all the times his mum tells him his trousers are far too tight for a boy to be wearing and how they always brag to all the other couples at their country club about how he’s such a catch and how he’ll make some girl so happy someday.

He has friends and family at home. He has a life at home. This is only for the summer and suddenly it’s all beginning to seem a bit silly. He could _never_  explain this to anyone back home. This isn’t who he is. Harry doesn’t kiss boys, Harry doesn’t have a crush on Louis. Harry’s gonna  make some girl so happy someday.

He doesn’t know how he’s let all this carry on for so long with out taking any of this into consideration.

He tries to picture actually bringing Louis home to his actual house to meet his actual parents and the idea is almost laughable. That could never happen, not in a million years. None of this could ever happen. He’s living as if he’s in an entirely different fucking universe; one where it’s normal to go away for the summer and come back a completely different person in every sense of the word.

He sits up straight and shakes his head, pulling his knees to his chest, curling himself up like a depressed little caterpillar stuck in it’s cocoon. Maybe that way it’s like he’s not even here. “It’s not like that.”

Louis looks confused as he scoots away a little and stares at Harry, clearly dumbfounded as if he’s speaking an entirely foreign language. “Not like what?”

Harry stays silent, resting his chin atop his knees, wondering how in the actual fuck he’s gotten himself into this mess.

Louis brings up a hand to scratch the back of his neck. “Either you’re really clueless or I’m rubbish at flirting.”

Harry glances over, eyes narrowing at Louis who’s still looking highly uninformed. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

Louis shrugs. “Dunno, just thought maybe when I kissed you the first time you’d get the impression I fancied you or something...” he explains. “And when you kissed me back I guess I figured you fancied me too.”

Harry clears his throat, bringing his eyes back down to the wrinkled sheet below him. Truth be told, that was the impression he got. And well, Louis’ right, really. It’s just that all of this happened before he pulled himself out of this ridiculous fantasy land for a second. “I --,” he pauses with a huff. “You figured wrong Lou. Sorry for making you think that.”

Louis’ still staring at Harry, slightly dumbfounded before clearing his own throat. “Wow. All right then. Yeah sorry, I guess...I dunno. Sorry.”

Louis leaves a moment later, presumably off to the showers. Harry spends the next hour and sixteen minutes trying to convince himself that he absolutely does not fancy Louis, and then he falls asleep.

 

* * *

 

It’s the first morning in maybe a week that Harry doesn’t wake up with Louis’ dead weight pressed against his back. He misses it for a minute; that’s before he remembers what happened last night, and then he feels relieved.

Sort of.

It’s bittersweet, really, because at least he cleared up the situation but at the same time, well...he’s kind of cold this morning because Louis left the window open last night -- “it’s how I air out after my showers” as he explained to Harry the third night there -- and he also enjoys cuddling Louis, a little bit.

Though he supposes he probably shouldn’t enjoy cuddling with Louis, considering he was the one the previous night who’d cemented that there was absolutely _nothing_ going on between the two of them.

Still, he does enjoy a good cuddle.

He rolls out of bed, fully aware that his newly accustomed trumpet of an alarm clock wont stop until everyone’s down at the rec center, and he goes to dig through his bag for a pair of trousers and his camp t-shirt.

It’s only when Louis hops down from his bunk that things become extraordinarily uncomfortable. He feels it customary to say good morning, but considering Louis hasn’t even so much as looked in his direction, he decides against it.

He supposes perhaps he was a bit harsh. And it’s not as if he doesn’t still want to be Louis’  _friend_. It’s just that he doesn’t want to give the wrong idea, and so he’s not exactly sure how to word things now with out it qualifying as him hitting on Louis.

If he’s entirely honest, he’s not really sure how they fell into the habit of hitting on each other to begin with -- does not smacking Louis across the head when he makes inappropriate jokes even qualify as some form of flirtation? -- but he does know that it was mostly, if not entirely, Louis’ fault.

Damn him.

“Your tops on backwards.”

Harry’s broken from his thoughts when he turns to face Louis, sheepishly scratching his stomach in the center of the room, sleep pants hanging low and lazily on his hips. If he’s honest, he’s a little taken aback by how Louis looks right now and he’s not sure why -- because he did, in fact, spend over an hour last night convincing himself that he didn’t fancy Louis in any sense of the word -- but he just looks so cozy and sleepy and really all Harry wants to do is get back into bed with Louis by his side.

He does realize, however, that he can’t keep staring forever because Louis’ looking at him as if he’s just grown a few extra heads, so he blinks and offers a dazed, “huh?”

“Your top,” Louis points. “It’s on backwards.”

Harry glances down to find that he has, in fact, put his t-shirt on backwards, and he chuckles awkwardly before pulling his arms through and twisting it around, waiting for Louis to make some sort of joke or call him some silly name, but there isn’t even a hint of a smile on his face, and this makes Harry slightly concerned because what if this means Louis hates him now? He doesn’t think he’s seen Louis act even remotely serious since he’s gotten here; at one point he’d even gone so far as to assume that a smile was actually glued to his face at all times, and this isn’t really a side of his roommate that he’d over hoped to see.

He just looks entirely and utterly _over it._

In this instance Harry feels it’s only fair to maybe apologize or something; explain that he didn’t mean any harm it’s just that he’s not really into boys and surely it wouldn’t be fair to lead Louis on if he didn’t feel anything back.

And sure, that last part may be a little untrue because, well...he supposes at some point he has developed some sort of silly little crush on Louis; there’s no denying that. But the point is, he’s not  _interested_ , because crush or no crush, it still isn’t something that he can pursue.

But, Harry being Harry, instead decides to take the less sensible, yet simpler route, and makes his escape before any more awkward conversation can ensue. “Cheers. See you down there,” he mumbles as he slips into his shoes and leaves Louis to himself.

Zayn asks, “Where’s your shadow?” and this makes Harry extremely uneasy because he just knows that this is a perfect prelude for how the entire day will play out; weird and quiet and it’s going to be painfully obvious to the boys that _something_ is up but neither he nor Louis will be bothered to explain.

Harry’s not even sure they know the half of it so he certainly doesn’t feel it his place.

He picks Niall first for volleyball later that day and Louis looks like he’s ready to storm off the damn court.

 

* * *

 

“-- anyway, I said it wouldn’t be so bad with a bit of salt and garlic, but -- hey, are you listening?” 

Harry’s not sure whether it’s even worth pretending at this point because he genuinely has no fucking idea what Niall is talking about; he’s too busy watching out at Louis kicking the ball around on the pitch by himself, and he’s really not sure whether to feel bad or be angry.

On one hand, he’s reminding Harry of the kid in year four who no one would be friends with, and so everyday at recess he’d play by himself and kick the football around just like Louis is. Harry’d tried befriending him on more than one occasion -- he must have gotten used to being on his own, Harry figured, because he never took to him, but that’s beside the point.

On the other hand, Louis’ the one being a bitter little prat. Nobody said he couldn’t join them on the sideline after the game was over; Zayn and Liam laying down and chatting while they stare up at the clouds and Harry and Niall sitting cross-legged, picking grass and, evidently, discussing herbs and spices.

Niall seems to take this silence as his cue to continue, so he does, and Harry continues to pretend to half pay attention, nodding every now again and forcing a chuckle whenever Niall starts laughing.

At some point the one-sided conversation turns to boxer briefs and Niall begins to realize that he’s lost Harry completely.

“Harry?”

Harry glances over, greeted with Niall staring at him expectantly. “Yeah, sorry?”

Niall just rolls his eyes, pushing himself up from the grass and continuing to speak, making it obvious that he expects Harry to join him on his way back to the main grounds. “If it bothers you that much, I’m sure you can just tell him to put clothes on --”

Harry tunes in half way through the sentence and realizes that Niall must be referring to the awkward air that’s fallen over the group today and he just shakes his head. “What are you talking about?”

“You mean it’s something else?”

“ _What’s_ something else?” Harry wonders as he and Niall both perch on the edge of the pool, dipping their feet in and swirling them around.

Niall looks on knowingly. “You expect none of us to notice that you’ve been ignoring each other all day?”

Harry just shrugs. “I’m not ignoring him. He’s ignoring me,” he explains, fully aware of how childish this sentence must sound, but at the same time it’s not entirely untrue. Maybe he hasn’t made much of an effort since the uncomfortable encounter in the cabin this morning, but Louis hasn’t made any efforts at _all_.

And he may be sort of relieved about that, considering he isn’t really looking forward to some sort of confrontation, but still, he’s done his part.

Niall scrunches his face up to block out the sun as he kicks water around with his feet, and Harry’s sure later he’ll regret not wearing sunblock because it’s the sunniest it’s been in days and Harry thinks they’ve all gotten too accustomed to the gloomy weather. “It takes a lot to make Lou mad, you know.”

Harry’s not really sure how to take this.

Because it’s obvious that Niall is trying to go about this in a subtle way due to the fact that _lads don’t really talk about this kind of stuff_ but is also attempting to appear assertive enough to let Harry know that if he messes with his best friend it’s going down. (Attempt is the key word -- Harry hardly thinks Niall is intimidating enough to squish a bug.)

“I don’t think he’s... _mad_ ,” Harry tries -- though he’s not actually sure that’s entirely true; the story is too long to explain so this will have to do -- but Niall just shrugs. He finds himself desperately hoping that Louis’ friends don’t turn on him too and leave him all alone to collect leaves by himself. It’s bad enough with a group.

“Anyway,” Niall changes the subject, and Harry lets out a sigh of relief because his sudden serious disposition disappears as quickly as it comes on, and Harry’s thankful for that because even more than Louis, he’s certainly never seen Niall very serious before, and he hopes this means he’s off the hook. “He gets in fits sometimes,” he explains, and Harry thinks that because Niall is taking the time to explain this to him, he must believe Harry to some extent. He figures this probably isn’t the first time something like this has happened.

It’s only fitting; his dramatics are excellent in every other department. Stroppy was due to make an appearance at some point or another.

“Mm,” is all Harry mumbles, staring down at the reflection the sun is making on the rippling waves of the pool, cascading onto he and Niall’s feet.

“Don’t worry about it,” Niall adds, as if he’s noticed the slight intimidation Harry’s taken on, but it’s still quite obvious that he’d rather be talking about something else. “He’ll get over it.”

Harry nods, and Niall starts talking about the time he stepped on a wasp nest.

 

* * *

 

“What’s the girls name -- what was she in? That chick flick? The Notebook? She’s a babe,” Zayn’s going on during lunch one day.

All that keeps repeating over and over again in Harry’s head is ‘ _Louis would know, Louis would know, Louis_ loves _The Notebook, let’s ask Louis._ ’ Alas, Louis hasn’t joined them for lunch today. In fact he didn’t yesterday, either. He seems to spend a lot of extra time on the football pitch lately; ‘sharpening up’, he says.

Harry pretends that he doesn’t realize what the real reason is, and he also pretends that he isn’t really starting to miss Louis, and whenever the boys ask where he is, as if Harry keeps tabs on Louis at all times or something, he just shrugs and acts like it’s not big deal. “Probably in the showers or something.”

There’s only so much pretending he can do, of course, and at some points, he begins to wonder why he even had to bring up what he did the other day. It’s still not like he wants to fucking get married or something, but after everything, he knows that it looked kind of silly and self-denial ridden pretending that there was nothing at all between them when there was obviously at least a little something.

He realizes this now -- how stupid the whole quitting Louis cold turkey thing was, but there’s no turning back at this point, really, and maybe it’s better that way. Maybe now he can stop pretending he doesn’t fancy Louis and just actually _stop_ fancying Louis.

“Don’t you think? Harry?”

He’s pulled out of his thoughts when he notices all three of them staring at him expectantly. He doesn’t actually know what the question was but he’s assuming it has something to do with the chick from The Notebook being a babe, so he just nods as he picks apart his sandwich. “Yeah, totally.”

The boys carry on but Harry doesn’t bother paying attention. Bored; he’s just _bored_. It’s a little bit pitiful how much he actually depends on Louis for. He never noticed how terribly horrible and overall _boring_ this summer would have been so far with out him.

He begins to wonder if he’s made a mistake. He was certainly having more fun fooling around with Louis than talking about _babes_ with the other lads.

This sentence repeats in his head a few times and he realizes the irony in this. That’s what lads _do_. Not fool around with each _other_.

“What about Katie Price, though? Am I right?” he starts, and this springs into a whole new conversation. He almost forgets all about Louis. Almost.

* * *

 

“The problem is,” Liam begins, hands tucked under his head as he glances up at the sky, “if you’re laying at a separate angle to me, when I see an ice cream cone, you see a -- a...”

“An upside down ice cream cone,” Zayn suggests; Liam nods, “yeah!” and Harry finds himself too bored with the conversation at hand to pay attention long enough to find out where it’s going; that is if it’s actually going anywhere.

Zayn and Liam’s monotonous routine of finding shapes in clouds just doesn’t have the same appeal to Harry and Niall for some God forsaken reason, and when Harry notices that Niall’s only gone and fallen asleep, he feels slightly trapped.

It’s just not the _same_ with out Louis, and even though he still joins them for meals sometimes and obviously for the bloody mandatory recreation, he’s been sleeping and showering an awful lot. Harry can only imagine why.

Well -- it’s partially his fault.

Because in the past few days, Louis has approached him more than a few times; not necessarily with any ulterior motive but perhaps just to say hello, or maybe even apologize for acting like a child.

He’s tried.

But with his new laddy lad mindset, Harry just isn’t having it.

It’s his turn now, to act like the child, because despite Louis’ best efforts, Harry has nothing to say to him. When Louis was the one doing the avoiding at least he could blame it on him; now he has no one to blame but himself, for always having to go have a shower or make his bed or do his goddamn laundry the very instant Louis walks over to him.

He can’t help it.

Despite the fact that he’s practically bored to death with out Louis around, he still isn’t quite sure how to handle interacting with him after their little scuffle.

Mainly because he’s still finding it really hard to keep reminding himself that Louis’ _just_ his mate, nothing more. He scolds himself internally every now and again for missing the damn kid so much when he’s only a few cabins away. Surely it can’t be healthy; not for ‘just mates’.

“Surely you can see how that one resembles a train?”

Harry hopes it’s not offensive when he stands up and walks off with out saying anything; he doubts they’ll notice anyway considering their engulfment in the condensation, of all things.

He decides to take a walk to the lake.

An uncommon place for him, surely, but at least it’s quiet and empty and when he slumps down on the dock, he’d even go as far as to say that it’s maybe a little bit peaceful. He’s not sure he can give the place that title just yet, though.

He picks up a twig and tosses it into the water, refusing to let his feet so much as skim the murky surface, and he feels a bit silly.

Perhaps he should be counting his blessings; that he got paired up with Louis as a roommate and in turn made even more friends in an instant when truthfully if he hadn’t been so lucky to do so, he’d probably be spending _all_ of his time here alone.

And perhaps he is slightly deserving of Louis’ attitude; surely he must be feeling a bit humiliated by the rejection he’s felt, and Harry really hasn’t done much to try and fix things.

It’s just that he can’t help being a _little_ angry.

None of this would have happened had Louis not been so goddamn charming and smiley and tan and warm and -- well, maybe that’s not the part that makes Harry angry. He likes that part. The part that makes him angry is that he used all this to lure Harry in with out even consulting him first and now Harry’s in the middle of an existential meltdown because he’s just gone and potentially ruined an entire month of what could have been a wonderful friendship. Blossoming, he may even say.

He wishes maybe Louis would have at least explained his motives; had Harry known, perhaps he _would_ have smacked Louis upside the head in turn for all of those inappropriate jokes.

But alas, he’s in too deep now, and he’s at the point now where he fears anything he says to Louis may be taken as _flirting_ and he doesn’t _want_ to flirt with Louis because Louis is a _boy_ and Harry doesn’t _fancy_ boys.

He decides he could really use a nap.

 

* * *

 

On Thursday Harry’s forced to give his first futile attempt at _archery_.

He laughs when he sees it written on the itinerary. He laughs because he imagines Niall struggling with the bow and accidentally shooting someone in the foot and Liam getting all pouty when he can’t work it out either and Zayn lining up, squinting, jaw agile and firm and hitting the target spot on because for whatever reason Zayn strikes him as the type who would thrive in the field of archery, now that he’s given it the thought. Sue him.

He’s not laughing when he’s the one being handed a bow and arrow because he doesn’t understand how this works.

It seems easy enough in theory, and of course the instructors make it _look_ easy, but it just doesn’t _happen_.

His arrow bounces half a meter in front of him and lands on the ground with a thud and then he gives up, staring blankly at the bloody thing lying there taunting him.

He was right about Zayn, though.

Evidently, he was right about Liam, too. “I hate archery,” he mumbles grumpily, slumping onto a nearby picnic bench in order to avoid the gaze of the handful of counselors scattered around. Harry decides they must be feeling similarly defeated at the moment, so he decides to join.

“How bloody hard can it be -- Niall’s doing it!” Liam’s saying as Harry sits down, and he laughs as he does in fact, glance over and spot Niall a few meters away from Zayn, perfect form and aim and everything else required to excel in the field of archery, which apparently Liam and Harry do not possess.

“No such luck for me either, I’m afraid,” Harry offers, bringing his elbow up onto the table to lean his head on his hand. He’s sure he looks pathetic.

“This isn’t any fun,” Liam sighs, vanquished and tired and archery seems like the exact last thing he wants to be discussing, so Harry isn’t surprised when he quickly changes the subject. “Have you ever been fishing?”

Harry just shrugs, squinting his eyes to block out the sun as he admires Zayn’s clean and perfect shot, hitting the bullseye dead-center. “My dad used to take me when I was little sometimes. I don’t really remember it,” he explains offhandedly.

“But not anymore?”

“My parents are divorced. I don’t really see him anymore,” he continues, and in an instant Liam’s face goes red and he looks undeniably guilty.

“Sorry, I --”

“Oh, I don’t really mind,” Harry shrugs. He remembers when his mum first told him; when she tried to explain that she and his dad were going to be living in separate houses in separate towns and she was crying and she kept kissing Harry on the forehead and he really didn’t understand what all the commotion was about; he was only nine and he just wanted to go play with his friends. It’s not as if he’d never see his dad again -- he still called every couple weeks; still took Harry out for his birthday and had him over the week after Christmas and sometimes for a couple weeks over the summer.

He’d never taken it as hard as his mum expected him to and he’s still not sure whether or not to feel guilty about that, mostly because she still cries when she talks about him and Harry just doesn’t really get it. “Do you like fishing?” he wonders, bringing the conversation back to it’s intended point to start with.

Liam scrunches up his face and shakes his head. “Not really.”

“Oh,” Harry says.

“Sometimes,” Liam begins, glancing out at what he can see of the lake from his spot across the campground, “we fish when the weathers nice, and a couple years ago Louis and I caught a huge one,” he brings his hands up, held out a near foot apart to display the size which Harry’s certain is an exaggeration because he doubts there are any fish that large in this stupid lake but who’s he to judge, “and we’re meant to toss them all back but, well -- you know, Louis,” he shrugs, and Harry smirks. “He thought it’d be funny to hide it on the underside of Zayn’s pillowcase.”

Harry brings a hand up to his mouth as his own laughter catches him off guard; this is certainly something he could see Louis doing. Also certainly something that he could see Zayn pitching a fit over. “And?”

“He didn’t speak to us for _three weeks_ ,” Liam finishes sadly, staring down at the table in reminiscence and Harry’s yet again at a loss.

“Oh.”

And here he thought this was going to be an uplifting story.

“Well anyway,” Liam perks up, offering a shrug, “we’re meant to go fishing tomorrow. Wonder if Louis’ got anything up his sleeves yet...” he wonders mischievously, and well. Quite frankly, Harry doubts it unless he’s come up with something in his sleep.

He wouldn’t be entirely surprised if he’s honest because he can only imagine the type of dreams that go on in Louis’ subconscious -- he’s not really sure he wants to -- but anyway, he still doubts it.

Harry shrugs too.

Liam clears his throat. He certainly isn’t stupid, and Harry isn’t going to act as though he is, so rather than pretend that absolutely nothing is going on with the two of them, he just stays quiet. “Cafeteria’s serving meatloaf today.”

At the sound of meatloaf Niall’s joined them and he finds himself wandering off to the cafeteria with them despite the fact that he’d rather pull out all of his eyelashes one by one than try fucking meatloaf from the cafeteria but, well -- at least it offers _some_ form of distraction.

And when they pass by Louis; standing slouched over fiddling with his own bow at the last target on the far end of the set up, he glances up at Harry through his eyelashes, and the look in his eyes is this big mixture of excited and then angry and then sad and then humiliated and they seem to be flowing right through Harry, too, and he’s not sure he’s ever felt so many emotions at once; not when his parents got divorced, not when his cat died, not even when he unwillingly made friends with that bloody squid. Harry just keeps walking and Louis just keeps fumbling and it’s better that way, Harry figures, because at least when he’s not staring at Louis, Louis can’t make him _feel_.

 

* * *

 

“Has Louis told you that he’s been to over sixteen countries?” Zayn wonders one day as they bake out in the sun on the bleachers by the footy pitch, and Harry is still finding it ridiculous that despite the fact that Louis is hardly ever even with them anymore, he’s still practically all they fucking talk about.

Still, interesting fact nonetheless. Harry shakes his head. “He’s been to over sixteen countries?”

“No,” Liam continues. “That’s just what he likes to tell people.”

“Oh.”

As hours turn into days and days turn into weeks Harry is growing far too used to this place for his liking. The boring routine of eating, playing football and roasting marshmallows is now what he’s accustomed to, and well, he’s not complaining really, because monotonous, sure, but it’s still probably more than what he’d be doing at home. Plus, he enjoys it.

Mostly because he really likes the boys; they’re so different from his friends at home and Harry just chalks that up to the fact that they’ve obviously been brought up different places and in different ways but it’s just refreshing to speak to people who’s life stories he hasn’t already heard. The most meaningless tale is still probably more entertaining than the drama and year 10 love triangles going on at home.

“Heard my name, hope you’re saying good things,” Louis saunters up to the metal bleachers, sliding on and kicking his feet onto the level below.

It’s been exactly one week since Harry and Louis have _really_ spoken. There’s been enough casual conversation to make it so sharing a room isn’t unbearably uncomfortable, but they’ve hardly been going out of their way.

Well, at least, Harry hasn’t.

The effort Louis’ put forth the past few days is impressive enough for the rest of the boys to forget about the elephant in the room, and Harry goes along, but when it’s just the two of them back in their bunks, he still isn’t really sure what to say.

And it’s a pity because Louis’ trying really hard to fix this mistake, especially considering despite the fact that Harry’s not exactly willing to admit, he’s mostly to blame.

“Only,” Liam rolls his eyes, and then winces when he receives a sharp slap to the thigh from Louis.

“Rumor has it Donna’s serving up a mean chocolate pudding in the caf this afternoon,” he announces to the group, as if this is all he has to offer after a week of absence.

“I think I’ll pass,” Liam decides, sliding off the bleachers and puffing up a big cloud of dirt when he lands. He motions for Niall to join him, but he declines with, “no way I’m passing up chocolate pudding” and heads off to the cafeteria by himself, and so Zayn joins Liam instead.

Harry and Louis are left alone yet again but this time it’s not in their cabin and Harry absently realizes that this is the first time they’ve been on their own in a week with out it being absolutely necessary.

Louis clears his throat. “What’s up?”

Harry shrugs. “Nothing. You?”

Louis nods. “Me too.”

Harry’s got an awfully strange feeling in the pit of his stomach and for once it’s not from the cafeteria food. “Cool...” he trails off, clasping his hands together.

“You wanna kick the ball around?” Louis wonders after a few moments of silence once the current group of kids on the pitch start walking off.

Harry swallows, letting his eyes slide closed. He thinks he’d like to. He considers saying yes. That would be nice. He considers saying I’m sorry I’ve been such a prat and I’m sorry I led you on and I’m sorry I told you I didn’t like you because I actually do, I think you’re about the best boy I’ve ever met and I love cuddling with you and I don’t only want a second kiss; I want a third and a fourth and a millionth.

Instead, he settles for, “Nah, think I’m gonna catch up with Niall.”

Louis nods as Harry slides off the bench and wanders away, and Harry thinks he may have missed his chance. He can’t tell if that’s a good thing.

 

* * *

 

Harry doesn’t see a point in self denial. Really.

He discovered this when he was younger, maybe nine or ten.

His mum had made him cookies; chocolate chip cookies and Harry is willing to argue that nobody in the world makes chocolate chip cookies that are anywhere near on par with his mum’s. They’re heaven in cookie form, one may say. She’d told him to wait until after dinner to eat them, and that seemed easy enough.

It was just that they were sat there on the counter taunting him, sugary chocolate scent filling his nose as he sat at the kitchen table staring at the clock, waiting for supper time to roll around. He didn’t see a problem in having just one; what difference would it make?

Only one turned to two and two to four and then half the plate was empty and Harry realized that he’d done a very bad thing.

He tried telling himself it was okay; the cookies were for him after all, and surely his mum wouldn’t mind all that much. It wasn’t _that_ bad _._

And then it struck him; that _was_ bad. He’d done something his mum specifically told him not to, and that was probably one of the worst things he could do at the tender age of nine.

Once he claimed it wasn’t him and Anne blamed it on the cat, Harry realized it really didn’t matter that he did something bad, as long as his mum never found out. He could do whatever the hell he wanted and freely admit it to himself, because it was all right if he knew as long as his mum didn’t.

Of course things have changed since he was nine and the realization of self denial being entirely pointless comes with some restrictions, but it’s still true.

That’s why after days and days of torturous boredom and awkward silences, he finally stops trying to convince himself that he doesn’t fancy Louis. Well, that and the fact that the more the lads talk about her, Harry realizes he’s probably spent more time judging Katie Price’s fashion choices than paying attention to her cup size.

He does fancy Louis; he knows this and he’s willing to admit it to himself now because it really doesn’t matter. His heart rules over his head more times than not anyway so no matter how many times he tries telling himself that he doesn’t, he still swoons when every time he sees Louis’ stupid face.

He fancies Louis, and he doesn’t mind that he’s allowing himself to acknowledge this now, because really he’s known it all along and it’s not as if Louis could possibly find out. As long as it’s all safe up in his head, it’s all right. It’s not like anything can come of it.

That’s what he thinks.

He thinks he’s home free.

He thinks things will be fine now because he’s sorted himself out and decided that he can spend the summer fancying Louis internally but being able to act normally around him because at least he’ll be able to gush over him in his head.

It sounds great.

Until Louis waltzes in one day, straight out of the pool, hair wet and dripping onto his face, bare chest speckled with drops of water, swim trunks hanging low and weighed down from the pool water. He runs a hand through his hair and walks over and takes a seat at the desk chair, facing Harry’s direction straight on.

“You have a spot free on your calender to talk about things or are you just gonna go on pretending it’s not happening?”

Harry blinks. Suddenly his idea of only fancying Louis in his head and pretending nothing ever happened on the outside doesn’t seem so easy. “Nothing’s happening, Louis. You just misunderstood.”

Louis glances down at his lap. “That’s bollocks though, Harry, because everything was fine up to that night and now you won’t even look at me. I just wanna know what I did to turn you off me so fast. Was it something I said?”

Harry remains silent. He can’t exactly explain that Louis’ joke about ‘meeting the parents’ blew itself way out of proportion in is angsty little sixteen year old mind and now he’s having an identity crisis because he’s never fancied a boy before and he doesn’t want to fancy a boy because how would he ever tell his friends?

He just shrugs.

“If you don’t fancy me fair enough but you could at least have the decency to speak to me.”

“I’ve tried speaking, you’re the one who went off in a strop,” Harry tries, though he’s entirely aware that _he’s_ been the more stroppy of the two, at least lately.

Louis rolls his eyes, raising and dropping his hands to his lap dramatically. “Yeah I know, Harry, my sincerest apologies for feeling the sting of rejection for a few days, but I tried apologizing and you’re acting like I’m invisible. I don’t understand what you want me to do.”

It’s mostly silent for a while. He isn’t even really sure what it is that he wants Louis to do.

“What do you want me to say?” Harry asks quietly, messing about with the hem of his t-shirt. It’s nearly impossible for him to look at any part of Louis. Not even his perfectly sculpted biceps.

“Just tell me you really didn’t feel anything when we kissed that night.”

For whatever reason he simply can't bring himself lie to Louis, and, as he’s discovered, he can't even lie to himself. Try as he may, deep down he still can't hide the fact that Louis is one of his new favorite people to be around and he feels undeniably guilty for putting them both into this situation, nor can he hide the fact that he felt absolutely everything when they kissed and he’s not even exactly sure how to describe just what it was because he’s never felt it before but whatever it was, it felt right. Warm and comfy and right.

"I've never been with a boy before."

"There's a first time for everything."

Harry rolls his eyes, huffing about as he plops down to lie on his back. "It's not that easy Louis. You make it sound so easy but it’s not that easy. Maybe it is for you but I have friends back at home and if they ever found out-"

"You’re not home Harry, you’re here,” Louis stops him. “That’s what’s so great about here. Nothing else out there matters right now. And if it makes you happy it shouldn't matter anyway. If you really want, the second you go home you can pretend none of this ever happened. But for right now it's not fair for you to deny yourself what you know you want just as much as I do because of what your friends at home might think. If you’re really that worried they’re probably shitty friends anyway.”

Harry stares at the bottom of Louis’ bed above him and blinks. Then he sighs, then he crosses his hands over his chest, and then he sighs again.

He supposes Louis has a point.

It’s not as if all these thoughts about home and his parents and his friends just vanish after all this trouble; he’s still worried, of course he is. But what Louis’ saying; it’s true. He can’t remember a time he was as happy as he was his first month here, and it should take a lot more than dipping his feet into something he’s not used to -- other than the lake of course -- to fuck all that up.

But before he gets a chance to say this, Louis’ sitting on his bed, swim trunks dripping all over his nice dry sheets, and he wants to protest for a moment before Louis slides his hand onto Harry’s stomach, rubbing his thumb back and forth. He brings his eyes up to meet Harry’s and smiles. “I’ll forgive you if you forgive me.”

Harry smiles, too. “Yeah. Okay.”

Louis’ teeth are lighting up the room again, and all in an instant it’s like the past week has been erased; like they’re picking up right where they left off and gosh Harry can’t believe how much he missed that smile. He also can’t believe how much of an idiot he’s been to waste an entire week of not seeing it when all it took was one little conversation to make things right again.

“Get off my bed though, you’re dripping and I have to sleep here tonight.”

Louis laughs. “Guess we’ll just have to sleep in mine tonight,” he offers, and Harry can feel his face go red as Louis leans down, gripping his hip, mouth inching closer and closer. He stops a moment, as if looking for Harry’s approval, and Harry just nods his head a little before Louis’ closing in, eliminating the gap between them.

His lips are warm and inviting, just like Harry remembers them being and his arms go to rest around Louis’ neck with out him even realizing; it’s like autopilot, how his body has prepared for this to happen since the last time it happened because by this point it’s long overdue. Louis is smiling and this makes Harry smile and then they both start laughing because it’s slightly difficult to kiss with their mouths splitting across their faces, so Harry pulls back, eventually, and shoves Louis by the chest. “I’m serious, you’re making my sheets all wet.”

Louis, for once, is the one rolling his eyes.

* * *

 

It’s a rainy Monday afternoon when the boys find themselves all crammed into Harry and Louis’ cabin. The morning football is cut short mid-game when a torrential downpour seems to strike right out of fucking nowhere and they are left reduced to sitting around in a circle on the floor with a Monopoly board in the center.

“I just don’t see how it’s fair that you get to be the dog,” Louis argues when Niall claims the pawn for himself. Harry chooses the boot, Liam the ship and Zayn the car, but Louis and Niall simply can’t seem to come to an agreement.

“Because I picked it first!” Niall explains simply, placing his dog on the starting block.

“No, no, I’m the dog. I’m always the dog. The dog is mine. You can be this cup,” Louis offers, and Liam rolls his eyes at the piece Louis picks up.

“That’s a thimble, you knobhead.”

Louis shrugs. “Whatever. You can be the thimble.”

They spend roughly six more minutes arguing over the dog, and it’s only when Zayn gets impatient and claims, “If you two don’t shut up and choose in the next three seconds I’m leaving,” that Niall finally agrees to hand the dog over to Louis, choosing the hat for himself.

Louis smirks because he loves getting his way and sometimes he reminds Harry of a child. He’s nearly certain that Louis doesn’t really care all that much about being the dog; he just likes people caving to him.

Nobody bothers arguing when he claims, “I also get to go first,” either, because it is an argument that they surely don’t have a chance at winning.

The games going well; Harry’s somehow ended up with both of the dark blue properties and when Louis’ cash fund begins to dwindle dramatically as he keeps landing on Harry’s blocks, Louis decides that Liam, the banker, and Harry, must be in cahoots with each other and are plotting against him to make his empire crumble to the ground.

He quits.

The other four carry on, Niall in a close lead behind Harry for first place once he’s placed hotels on his green properties but Louis becomes restless lying on Harry’s bed by himself and suggests everyone else quits, too. “Can’t we do something else?” he whines.

“Just because _you’re_ a sore loser doesn’t mean everyone else wants to stop,” Liam explains as he hops his little ship down the gameboard.

“You’re all hopeless,” he mutters, tucking his hands behind his head. “Lost causes. Don’t you know what happens once someone gets both of the dark blues?”

They continue playing as Louis rambles on behind them.

“You get greedy. You just want more and more. Don’t you Harry?” he wonders, but doesn’t give him a chance to answer, not that he was going to anyway. “You get a little bit of power and then all the sudden you’re on a tirade; out of control. Feel like you run the whole world. Filthy, if you ask me, stripping all those small businesses of their pride and dignity; everything they’ve worked so hard for. Poor Zayn’s gone bankrupt and you don’t mind, do you? As long as you get your money. You’re the Asda of teenage boys, Harry, how does that make you feel?”

No one bothers telling him that’s what the game is _about_.

As if on cue, Niall’s hat lands on Harry’s dark blue with three houses and he’s reduced to selling his hotels back in order to pay the hefty fee. Zayn has three pounds left in his hand by the time his roll comes around and by that point everyone’s beginning to lose interest, all except Harry, much to Louis’ enjoyment because he can finally stop lecturing from across the room.

“Not so powerful now, are you?” Louis grins, stepping over and kicking the hotels Harry’s built on his blue properties away from the board.

“Hey!” Harry exclaims defensively, quickly gathering and replacing them. “That’s not fair.”

Louis leans down and pats Harry’s shoulder as Niall and Zayn begin play fighting off to the side. “It’s over babe; let it go.”

Harry pouts sadly; this is the first time he’s been so close to winning and now everyone’s bailing out, but what’s distracting him more is the fact that Louis definitely just called him babe and oh dear; perhaps he shouldn’t really be surprised at this point but he still wasn’t necessarily _expecting_ it and now he’s just not quite sure how to react. He clears his throat. “Right. Fine.”

“I’ve got a better idea anyway,” Louis announces, stepping into the center of the room and demanding the boys’ attention. No one really pays him any, but he keeps talking anyway; Harry figures he must surely be used to it by this point. He saunters over to the window, peaking out at the rain steadily pouring, creating little puddles in the mud.

“Yeah?” Harry wonders, seeming to be the only one left interested in what Louis has to say. He figures if he’d known Louis as long as the rest of the boys have he might be just as uninterested as they are, but right now, Louis’ still so fresh and new and different; like the class pet that everyone forgets about after the first couple weeks and to Harry he still feels like day two. “What’s that?”

Louis turns on his heels, quirking his eyebrows as he lets his hands rest on his hips. He looks entirely too suspicious for Harry’s comfort. “Have you ever been skinny dipping?”

Harry’s breath hitches at this just a little, and his eyes grow wide; unless the time he and his cousin swam in the kiddie pool naked when they were six because they thought it would be fun counts, that’s a blatant and obvious “no”, and anyone who’s known Harry for more than about six hours would know that.

Louis knows that.

Louis knows that sweet little innocent shut in Harry has never been _skinny dipping,_ and that’s the reason for that stupid evil smirk on his face. He does believe Louis is trying to _corrupt_ him. Oh dear.

He just shakes his head a little, glancing up at Louis from his place on the floor, curls flopping into his face. “No.”

“Well, dear Harold, there’s a first time for everything,” he suggests casually, just like he had the other night and oh fuck -- Harry’s got this horrible feeling that Louis must pull this line a lot and the unsettling bit about that is that when Louis says “there’s a first time for everything”, nothing in the world seems to make more sense, to Harry. Once Louis drops this line all previous inclinations and morals fly out the window because Louis’ suggesting that it’s cool and spontaneous to do such and well -- he’s made it quite obvious to himself by this point that it’s quite difficult for him to resist Louis’ charm.

That’s in Louis’ character anyway, he decides; “there’s a first time for everything.” Mostly, Harry figures, because Louis is restless and adventurous and he needs to find some excuse for the antics he gets up to. _‘I’ve never hid a fish in Zayn’s bed before, but there’s a first time for everything,’_ he absently finds himself imagining, and it’s not until Louis clears his throat that he’s dropped back into reality.

“It’s raining,” Harry points out, as if this obvious fact will deter Louis in the slightest.

“Yeah?” Louis shrugs, glancing back out the window before turning his attention back to Harry on the floor. “That’s the best part. No one will know, cause they’re all cooped up in their cabins having about as much fun as we are,” he explains, and the other boys have tuned in by this point but they don’t seem all that eager, either.

Harry glances at Liam, expecting him to knock some sense into Louis, if anyone can. He grins at Harry’s desperate call for help before responding. “You get told off for anything else they’re gonna kick you out,” he tells him, and Louis just rolls his eyes.

“We won’t get caught. There’s not exactly anyone out there standing guard in the midst of all this,” he motions toward the window where the rain is blowing around outside.

Liam doesn’t seem to have much else to offer and goes back to rearranging strands of Niall’s hair and Harry clears his throat because -- well. He just. He can’t do that, can he? He can’t _skinny dip_ with these boys who he’s hardly known a few weeks even though at times it feels so much longer but even if he’d known them his entire life he still thinks -- no, he couldn’t. That’s not Harry. Harry would never get his dick out and jump in a lake he nearly died in. Well. He came close enough.

But that’s beside the point really and more plainly he just doesn’t _want_ to. Not only does that not seem the slightest bit entertaining to him, there’s also the superficial things to worry about like what if they’re all bigger than him which -- okay, that would hardly be the end of the world. But still, slightly embarrassing nonetheless.

“Unless you’re scared or something,” Louis shrugs, challenge laced through his tone. Harry considers standing up and saying ‘of course I’m not scared’, because for some reason Louis brings out this edge of competitiveness in him which is literally never, ever present otherwise, but he just really, really would rather not. So. He figures he’ll let Louis win this one.

“I just don’t see how that could possibly be more fun than Monopoly,” he explains with a shrug, motioning toward the disheveled game board on the floor.

Louis’ eyes narrow for a moment before he’s saying, “You’re one of the most bizarre people I’ve ever met.”

Harry’s not sure whether to take this as a compliment or an insult but his face reddens a little either way and he just goes about stacking up all the piles of play money and property cards alike. He also thinks this is a bit rich, coming from Louis of all people. He shrugs.

Louis turns to the pile of friends who are lying haphazardly across each other by the door and crosses his arms, staring at the three of them expectantly. “Boys?”

A round of grunts sounds from each before they go back to not paying attention to Louis just like before, and so he tosses his hands up in the air dramatically, as Louis does best, and lets out a huff. “Christ, when the hell did you all become so boring?”

Harry inwardly chuckles at Louis’ frustration as he keeps his head down and places the lid on the box because it’s quite funny to see him not get his way for once.

“Right then,” Louis decides pointedly, pulling his shirt over his head and it takes Harry a moment to realize what Louis is about to do and then his eyes go wide. “I’ll just have to go by myself.”

This finally draws the attention of the other boys if nothing else did and they’re laughing and mumbling that he wouldn’t dare, but Louis means business and the look on his face tells them just that. “This isn’t a free show boys,” he tells them as he unbuttons his trousers and lets them drop to the ground, “so if you’ll excuse me.”

He starts toward the door and they all stand up in disbelief and well -- Harry’ll be damned if he’s left sitting on the ground like a fool. Not that he’s necessarily eager to see Louis strip down or anything but well.

He maybe is just a little.

Louis pulls the door open and the wind rushes in, pegging his bare skin save for his pants with little rain drops and he takes a quick peek around before he’s dashing off full speed toward the lake and Harry’s only got enough sense to close the door behind them as they all follow.

He’s not sure why he expected Louis to back out, and he’s reminded yet again to never doubt Louis as he strips off his last article of clothing; his pants, right there in front of Harry and for fucks sake he has absolutely no idea where to look, and tosses them aside before jumping off the dock and into the lake with a splash.

Harry thinks that probably must have hurt and absently worries about the well being of their future children.

The boys are laughing as they all gather along the edge and when Louis resurfaces, shaking his hair out like a wet dog, he shouts, “come on, don’t be pussies!”, and that’s all it takes for Niall and Liam to start stripping down too -- though Liam does retain some dignity in leaving his boxers on but Harry’s already made it very clear that he has not one little ounce of interest in this -- though to be fair that was before he saw Louis bar clothing -- so he and Zayn opt to sit on the dock, feet dangling in the water as rain pelts their heads, soaking their clothes and hair.

Some sort of water fight has ensued and Harry’s really just taken to glancing back towards the grounds every now and again to make sure they won’t get in trouble because of fucking course that’s something Harry would worry about, and he’s paying so little attention to the situation at hand that he’s entirely caught off guard when he feels a pull to his leg and then his breath hitches and -- shit, he’s _in_ the water.

This is a position he hoped to never be in again -- at least not so soon and he’s panicking so frantically that he can’t even compose himself long enough to realize that Louis’ the one who’s pulled him in and instead starts shouting, “Louis! Louis!” as he splashes around to stay afloat.

“Relax,” he hears from behind him, then there’s a body pressed against his and he can feel breath on his neck as arms loop around his waist. “I’m right here.”

“I’m gonna die,” he declares, squeezing his eyes shut and preparing to take his last breath. This is it; this is the end. It’s been nice, he decides, though he wishes he had a bit longer than sixteen years -- he’s not even learned to drive yet but beggars can’t be choosers, he figures, and --

Louis is naked.

Louis is naked; devoid of all clothing and Louis is flush against Harry’s back and Harry has suddenly forgotten how to breathe.

“You’re not gonna die,” he’s laughing in Harry’s ear and Jesus Harry just isn’t prepared for this right now, nor is he prepared for the way that Louis pulls him just a little closer, literally demolishing any possible boundaries that still subsist -- which are practically nonexistent at this point anyway but that’s irrelevant. “I’ve got you.”

This is not as reassuring as Louis is meaning it to be because if Harry wasn’t going to go into cardiac arrest from being dragged into a lake against his will and knowledge, he may very have a heart attack from being pressed up against _Louis’ naked body._

And -- well, maybe he’s over-reacting just a little bit. He’s not even all that surprised considering the entity at hand, but it’s just that things have been so odd lately and now that he’s just starting to warm up to the fact that he maybe fancies Louis a bit and _finally_ allows himself to acknowledge it, they’re practically two steps away from having sex in the open water.

Harry wonders if Louis’ chosen names for their children yet.

“I really hate you,” Harry decides.

“You do not.”

Louis may happen to be right this time but despite not _hating_ him, Harry is really not very happy with him at the current moment in time and he is entirely too intent on making Louis aware of this. “I’m not speaking to you for a week.”

“You haven’t got much choice now, have you,” Louis wonders as they drift further and further away from the dock, and Harry still is not overly enthused about floating in this terrible body of seaweed-infested water, but he must admit that he does feel approximately six dozen times safer in Louis’ arms, even though he’s the one who dragged him into this. Literally.

Harry turns a little so his side is against Louis’ front and he tilts his head so they’re face to face. “I’m not sure if anyone’s ever told you this but holding someone you fancy against their will isn’t necessarily the best way to win them over.”

The smile that spreads across Louis’ face at this precise moment is scientifically proven to stop world hunger, or at least Harry thinks it must be because he’s never felt so much...whatever it is that he’s _feeling_ from making Louis smile like that, in all his sixteen years of life.

It’s the first time either of them have really brought it up since their reconciliation and Harry’s feeling a bit smug with himself that he’s actually beaten Louis to the chase on this one because he’s never this forward but Louis seems to bring out some new found bravery in him and he likes the way it feels; likes the way he can say something in front of Louis with out the fear of sounding stupid or being teased for it -- maliciously, at least; Louis could probably find a way to tease anyone for literally _anything_ and that’s always in the back of Harry’s head but he never actually _means_ it.

“I’m not sure if anyone’s ever told _you_ ,” Louis starts alternatively, “but I work in mysterious ways. Don’t question them.”

Harry just hums his indifference and glances up toward the sky, rain still falling heavy and cold and even though it’s freezing and he’s never felt more uncomfortable emerged in the water fully clothed, it really isn’t all the unpleasant. He’s even managed to distract himself from the fact that Louis’ dick is pressed against his side

“At least admit that you’re having more fun than you were in there raising a tyranny,” Louis presents, and Harry offers a look that’s a cross between ‘are you actually joking’ and ‘I feel sorry for you if you’re not because you must be dafter than I thought’.

“Yeah, of course, this is how I spend all my spare time,” Harry says, on the verge of rolling his eyes but before he has a chance he notices that Louis’ grip is loosening dramatically and he’s not very fond of that at all, especially considering how far they are from the dock now; far from the other boys and everything, really. “What are you doing?”

An evil smile is playing on Louis’ face and Harry’s not sure what to expect until Louis’ hands are attacking his sides, fingertips squiggling all over his skin under his top and Harry’s involuntarily jerking around; he’s never been tickled under water before and up to this point he wasn’t even sure physics would allow such, but apparently it does, at least when Louis is involved and Harry’s not overly surprised at this because he’s pretty sure he’s seen Louis break the laws of physics at least a few times before. “I’m serious now I really do hate you,” Harry proclaims as he finally jerks away from Louis’ grip. He tries his hardest to hide his smile because he’s genuinely not happy right now; he just can’t help but laugh with Louis’ fingers brushing around his skin so frantically.

“Aw come on,” Louis chuckles, wading over and pulling Harry back by the arm. “Just havin’ a bit of fun,” he reclasps his hands around Harry’s waist but he still seems unimpressed.

“Well I would very much appreciate it if your fun wasn’t at my expense. I’m not sure if you’ve forgotten but I happened to have a very traumatic experience in this very lake and I really don’t look forward to experiencing a second,” Harry spouts off.

Louis pouts, and Harry’s not sure if he genuinely feels bad or if he’s just trying to look cute to get off the hook -- which Harry will pretend isn’t working -- and says, “I’m sorry. How can I make it up to you?”

Harry blinks, considering this for a moment before deciding ultimately he’d really rather just be back in the cabin now. “Get me out of this lake?”

Louis chuckles and he leans over and presses a kiss to Harry’s cheek and of course Harry flushes at this because his body finds a genuine sinister amount of enjoyment in embarrassing him more times than not. “All right.”

This is the first of many times where Harry finds himself desperately struggling to stay mad at Louis. He fails miserably as soon as Louis slips into his bed aside him and presses a kiss to his ear.

 

* * *

 

Over the next couple days Harry pushes his boundaries just a little tiny bit further each day. Admittedly, pushing boundaries for Harry is probably the equivalent to breathing for the average person but he’s shy and he’s not used to flirting, let alone with a boy, so to him, the stupid little lingering glances and mildly inappropriate jokes do count as pushing boundaries 

He even goes so far as to initiate a play fight with Louis one day, because Louis’ laying casually on his bed and Harry’s just come back from the cafeteria with Niall and he wants to lie down.

Louis doesn’t really seem to care.

He pokes him first; in the side, and he can’t help but giggle a little as Louis opens his eyes and raises his eyebrows, hands tucked behind his head and legs crossed at the ankles. “Scoot,” Harry demands.

Louis just lets his eyes slide closed again, letting out a sigh of content. “Make me.”

This is when he pulls at Louis’ arm, accepting the challenge. Louis’ shifts a bit, surprised that Harry’s actually playing along, and within moments they’re tangled up in each other, heaving and rolling off the bed and laughing and fuck Harry probably really shouldn’t have started this considering he knows he’s no match for Louis, and as soon as they hit the floor Louis has him pinned.

He chuckles awkwardly up at Louis hovering above him, hands pressing his shoulders against the wooden floor. He can’t say it’s the most comfortable position he’s ever been in. “All right,” he offers, squirming a bit. “You win.”

Louis narrows his eyes suspiciously a moment before easing up, sitting back so he’s straddling Harry’s waist, arms laying at his sides.

“But next time,” Harry sits up, shimmying out from under Louis, “Don’t take the top bunk if you don’t ever plan on sleeping it it,” he declares, sticking his tongue out and poking Louis hard in the chest.

He expects some sort of witty comeback but instead Louis just mumbles, “I’m gonna go have a shower,” and he shuffles out of the room so quickly that Harry doesn’t even have a chance to question him.

He just shrugs and slides into his bed, figuring there really isn’t any formula when it comes to Louis; he’s a bit of a loose canon and he isn’t the type of person that you can really _have_ expectations about.

He thinks it’s a bit strange really, mostly just because he’s never met anyone like Louis and he’s never had such a hard time figuring someone out while _enjoying_ them all the while, and the really great thing about Louis is that even when Harry thinks he can’t get any better, he _does_. It’s like every word that comes out of his mouth is funnier or more interesting than the one before and Harry can’t help but wonder if that feeling will ever wear off because he’s starting to feel like a girl. He knows it musn’t be entirely normal because most of the time all the other boys just roll their eyes and ignore him, meanwhile Harry’s gazing lovingly at his eyes and his tan and imagining their life together in twenty years time.

He’s only broken from his day dreaming when he happens to glance around the room and notice that Louis’ shampoo bottle is still planted in the corner with the rest of his crap that he leaves strewn around, and he’s been gone a while now not to have realized but either way, he can’t really shower with out shampoo, and he knows that Louis wont be reduced to the vile shampoo the camp provides in the washroom, so Harry decides he’ll just bring it for him; he’s a little torn because part of him feels like he may come off entirely too clingy to the point where he can’t even stay away from Louis long enough so that he can shower with out coming to find him, but genuinely he really just worries for Louis’ hygiene, and that’s what he tells himself as he grabs it and starts on his way to the showers.

He clears his throat before stepping into the room, glancing around and noticing that he’s the only person in here save for Louis, who is presumably in the only shower that’s running. He pads across the concrete floor a moment before contemplating how to go about doing this because it’s not as though he can _knock_ on a curtain and if he just says Louis’ name that might be slightly startling, so somewhere in his rebellion riddled mind, he decides that his only option is just to _open_ the curtain.

It’s a fine idea to him, or at least that’s what he tries to convince himself, what with all these boundaries he’s pushing, and he figures that Louis’ would do the same to him.

So for whatever god forsaken reason in the universe, even though every _logical_ bone remaining in his body is telling him not to, and there’s a huge red light and a ‘NO’ sign flashing in his head with a huge panic alarm sounding in the background, he pulls the shower curtain open.

Because he and Louis fancy each other and they’ve kissed and he’s already seen Louis naked so it’s all right. That’s what he figures.

But he’s never seen Louis wanking.

And that is precisely what he’s doing. His head’s tossed back against the wall and his chest is rising and falling, hand wrapped around his dick and jerking up and down. His eyes are closed, mouth dropped open. And he’s touching himself.

Well, that’s what he _was_ doing. Now he’s staring back at Harry, eyes as wide as they possibly can be with out rolling out of his face, hand awkwardly falling from his dick to press flat against the tiled shower wall. He chuckles nervously.

“OH god. Oh god I’m so-” Harry raises a hand to his forehead and he can feel how hot his face is getting as he tries _so hard_ to look away but it’s like a car wreck -- he just _can’t._ “Shit. I -- You forgot your shampoo I was just --” he sighs. He knows he isn’t making any sense. He holds the bottle out, despite him now realizing that Louis left the shampoo in the cabin for a _reason_. He didn’t come to the showers to wash his fucking hair. “Sorry,” Harry mutters, before bringing a hand to scratch his head and then promptly closing the curtain and high-tailing it away.

The only thing he can concentrate on as he all but power walks back to the cabin is that _he did this_. _Did_ he do this? He and Louis _were_ play wresting before he ran off so suddenly, and the fact that he maybe possibly gave Louis a hard on leaves him feeling partly embarrassed and partly... _really nice_. He’s not sure if he’s ever made anyone feel like that before, mainly because through his own eyes he maintains the sex appeal of a half eaten waffle and surprisingly that’s difficult enough for him to keep up with. He couldn’t ever imagine...well, what’s just happened, if it was his doing anyway, because he supposes he’s not actually sure he’s the reason Louis felt the need to pleasure himself in the shower, but it makes sense.

He tries his very hardest to fall asleep, that way he doesn’t have to face the tension that will surface when Louis comes back to get dressed.

 

* * *

 

Sometimes Harry wonders why he was never taught the basic guidelines of social interactions when he was younger. He wonders if it was a unit in school he missed out on when he had the chicken pox because for some reason everyone else seems to know how to handle themselves in sticky situations and all he does is go to sleep.

Surely it must come through experiences; learning from your own mistakes. Harry thinks he’s probably kept his mouth shut a few times too many growing up, and maybe that’s the reason why. It’s something he partially regrets, because looking back there are times he should have spoken up; should have stood up for himself or his friends or whoever needed sticking up for, rather than sitting on the sidelines and letting it slide.

On the other hand it also means that he’s never really gotten into any confrontations; hasn’t ever gained any enemies, but that’s just a part of life. Maybe getting himself involved in a few scuffles would have done him some good; would have helped him grow a thicker skin. It doesn’t really come into perspective until he ends up in this place; realizes how difficult it can be sometimes with all the new people. He’s never really pegged himself as a loner but he can’t count the amount of times he’s found himself absently thinking that he has no idea how he’d have faired had Louis not been so friendly toward him the first day.

He sometimes wishes he had just a little more experience in this type of thing; being in groups and meeting new people, and the main reason today is because he has no fucking idea what you’re meant say to someone after you’ve walked in on them masturbating.

It’s an entire six hours before either he or Louis even open their mouths to speak to each other. They’re sat across from each other at the cafeteria table, waiting for the boys to join them and break the silence but Louis beats them to the chase when he says, “You didn’t hear me moaning your name, did you?”

Harry’s eyes widen in shock and he almost double checks to make sure he’s heard Louis right before he realizes that it is Louis, after all, and he really shouldn’t be very surprised.

“I’m joking,” he chuckles quietly, and for the first time possibly since he’s been here Harry notices Louis’ face go a little bit red and Harry smiles because he never thought he’d see the day where Louis would be getting shy but he supposes that being walked in on while you’re masturbating is pretty much universally shameful no matter who it is, so he can’t really blame the poor guy.

Considering he’s spent all of a quarter of the day trying to _avoid_ discussing the incident he figures now really isn’t the time to start. He just clears his throat and says, “I know,” before drumming his finger nails against the table. "Why are Niall and Liam taking so long? Hey weren't we meant to go fishing the other day?" he wonders, stabbing a potato with his fork. Or at least he thinks it's a potato.

Louis smirks knowingly because Harry's cute when he tries to avoid the subject and he shrugs. "You're cute when you try to avoid the subject."

Harry's face reddens as he smiles down into his food. "Well I didn't figure you'd be keen to talk about me walking in on you having a wank but if that's really what you want..." Harry trails off, and then after a moment he chortles when he realizes how much Louis' sarcasm has rubbed off on him.

Louis smiles, kicking Harry's foot under the table. "Did you like what you saw?" Harry's gaze raises from his plate to Louis and he genuinely can't tell if he's being serious or not which is slightly humbling because he really thought knew Louis better by now. His eyebrows knit together and he intends to keep them that way until Louis clarifies.

He just chuckles to himself and looks down to his plate which really is no help to Harry at all. This is the part where the boys are supposed to walk in at just the right time that way there’s no space for awkward silence. Any minute now. They’ll be here. Harry can feel it.

“You know it’s only fair now that you show me yours,” Louis presses, and Harry simultaneously wishes that Louis would learn when to shut the fuck up and decides that if someone were to make a movie about his life they would have to seriously retouch the timing because Harry’s certain this statement could have been avoided if they would just _show up_ already. Of course that isn’t Harry’s luck, though.

He mumbles under his breath a moment before shoveling a fork full of food into his mouth which is Louis’ first clue that something is up because Harry has never been so eager to eat the cafeteria food before, and Louis scrunches up his face before declaring, “You’re being so weird. It’s as if you’ve never seen another bloke wanking before.”

Harry isn’t sure if he’d rather punch Louis in the face or himself, for being so unable to respond coherently. “I haven’t,” he mumbles, and though it’s probably not the best response he could have offered, he’s happy that he at least got actual words out.

“Oh, right. That’s okay. But if you wanted to-”

And this is precisely when he hears Niall’s laughter rip through the cafeteria and in an instant all three of the boys are sliding into the seats around them and Louis’ sentence is cut short. It’s just his luck that when he really, really wishes they would have held off just five more seconds to hear whatever the fuck Louis was about to say they decide to roll up late. If he wanted to _what_. The possibilities he’s imagining are literally endless and about eighty percent of them involve his dick. And Louis’ dick. And he decides to swiftly change his subject of thought because he’s sitting at a table in the cafeteria and he doesn’t want to be met with his second awkward hard-on situation of the day.

Instead he thinks about the jello cubes that are jiggling on Louis’ plate as Niall slams his tray down. They remind him of Louis’ thighs pressing up against the tile wall when --

Perhaps the jello cubes aren't doing his dick any favors, but Louis' thighs; they're like the eighth wonder of the world. Eighth and ninth; each thigh deserves its own title. They’re so perfectly firm and muscular, and the way they looked slamming back against the wall -- he wants to sit in between them; hold onto them, kiss them, lick them, sit on them, have them squeezing around his, etc. Maybe even bite them.

He hasn't even ever had sex yet but somehow Louis' thighs have him thinking like a seasoned pro.

He's not really sure how to deal with it but a very big part of him is telling him that the only way _to_ deal with it is to sneak back to the cabin and rub one out.

“I can’t eat this,” he pushes his tray toward Niall. “Feel a bit sick. Gonna go lie down,” he decides, and no one really questions him, but he of course can’t help but notice that Louis’ glance lingers just a little longer than the rest of them, and that doesn’t help the semi he’s sporting in his shorts.

He's really glad he's gotten over this 'Louis' a dude thing' and allowed himself to acknowledge how attracted he is to him because getting off would be a lot more difficult if his thoughts were along the lines of "he's a very good looking boy with a nice body but I do not like men" instead of "I want his dick to touch some part of my body and I don't even care where," and he's pretty desperate for relief at this point.

Right. He’s doing this. He’s going to have a wank for the first time all summer and he’s going to think about Louis the entire time and he doesn’t even care; there’s no limits now. Louis is hot! Louis is fucking fantastic! He’s attracted to a thing with a penis and he wants to touch it.

He’ll have to thank Louis for wanking in the shower earlier because otherwise he wouldn’t be so hot and bothered right now, and he has a feeling he’s really about to enjoy himself. Thanks Louis.

He storms in, slams the door closed behind him and flops onto his bed, snuggling in and then--

“Hey.”

He almost falls off.

“WhatareyoudoingIsaidIfeltsick,” he fumbles out in one breath, gathering his duvet up around his waist to hide the tent in his pants. He wonders how long Louis’d been following him here because he’s almost certain he was doing a little happy dance on the way back. Talk about a mood killer.

“Wanted to make sure you were all right,” he says, crossing his arms as he leans in the open doorway. He’s got an evil little smirk on his face and Harry really just wants to tear his lips right off his face. “Which by the looks of it,” he nods toward the mountain of blanket Harry’s using to conceal his arousal, “You’re not.”

“I’m perfectly fine,” Harry tells him, pretending Louis isn’t casually acknowledging his boner. “You don’t need to check on me.”

Louis closes the door and takes a few steps toward Harry’s bed. “If I’d known boiled potatoes turned you on so much I’d have told you to try them sooner.”

“Don’t do this.” Harry’s mouth is speaking with out a filter because he really didn’t mean to say that but it’s certainly what he’s thinking. Of _course_ Louis couldn’t just walk away pretending not to notice. Of course he couldn’t. He’s Louis.

“Hey you did it to me,” he grins, sliding onto the edge of the mattress.

“Is there anything else you’d like to say to embarrass me or are you ready to leave me in peace?” Harry wonders, scooting away toward the wall. He’s never been in such close proximity to someone whilst fully erect and he can’t say it’s the most comfortable feeling.

“I didn’t come to embarrass you,” Louis mocks offense, trailing his hand over to rest on Harry’s leg.

“Then why’d you come?” he asks quietly, narrowing his eyes. He has a feeling he knows where this is going and he thinks he might vomit.

“Come on, you’re a smart boy. Surely you can figure it out.”

He’s looking for a bucket.

“Um.”

The closest he’s gotten to this moment is a Friday night with the house to himself and his hands. He doesn’t know what to do; doesn’t know what to say.

He’s also absently wondering just how obvious he was being in the cafeteria. He really hopes the other boys didn’t gather that the reason he left was to get off. Lord knows how Louis did. He doesn’t care. That’s the least of his worries right now.

He blinks and moves the blanket away from his crotch. He’s really not sure if he’s supposed to say something but his mouth is too dry so he just hopes Louis takes the hint.

He does. He scoots a little closer and grins. “Relax, I’m not gonna bite it off,” he tells him, “I mean. Not unless you’re into that kinda thing.”

Harry can feel his cheeks grow red and he buries his face in his hands before groaning. There is no possible way Louis is going to take this seriously and Harry can just feel that it’s going to end terribly. “Forget it. Out,” he points to the door. “Please.”

“I’m offended,” Louis pouts. “I give a mean handjob if I do say so myself.”

There it is. Out in the open. Harry clears his throat and looks to his lap which he’s recovered with his stupid duvet. Suddenly he feels a little less brave.

Louis senses the tension he’s just created and rolls his eyes before letting his hand fall onto Harry’s thigh. “I fancy you. You fancy me. What are you so scared of? Do you have an ugly orgasm face? It’s all right mate it happens to the best of us.”

Harry rolls his eyes. “I’m not scared,” he says quietly.

“So?”

Harry lets out a sigh after a moment of thought and moves the blanket again, absently pondering that this must be the most longwinded and un-sexy prelude to a sexual act in existence. He kind of wishes this wasn’t how his very first time doing anything of the sort with another person was starting, but he supposes that’s really just a metaphor for his entire life.

He’s really not sure whether he’s the one who’s supposed to be unbuttoning his shorts or if Louis is and he’s mentally sending out a massive fuck you to anyone who’s ever told him these things come naturally; that when it happens you’ll just know what to do. He has no fucking idea what to do and the amount of time he and Louis have been sitting here with a massive hard on between them is about to cross the line of slightly tense to incredibly awkward.

Thankfully Louis seems to notice how unsure Harry is feeling so he reaches out first and fumbles with undoing them while Harry sits nervously with his hands by his sides. He stares out the window as Louis pulls his shorts down his thighs because he really isn’t sure where the hell else to look.

It’s only when he feels Louis’ fingers tuck under the waistband of his briefs that his eyes actually turn back to the matter at hand and Louis’ glances up to meet them before Harry just looks down shyly. Louis takes this as his cue and he’s pulling them down, too. Harry’s pretty sure he can hear the earth spinning with how silent it is in the room as Louis stares down at him, eyes full of awe and excitement.

He only looks up at Harry one more time before he’s reaching his hand out; Harry’s breath hitches in his throat and he really is about to warn Louis that in about five seconds he might be covered in his lunch, but he takes a deep breath and tries his very hardest to relax as Louis’ warm, soft hand encloses around him.

It feels like his entire body might spontaneously combust, nothing left but little bits of curly hair and tattered gym shoes floating around the room.

He knew someone else’s hand would feel better than his own but fuck he wasn’t prepared for _how_ much nicer it would feel; possibly the most exciting part is that he’s got absolutely no control. Also worrisome. But exciting nonetheless.

He’s thinking too much. He’s thinking too much and not concentrating enough on the fact that _Louis is jerking him off_ and when this realization strikes he needs to choke back a moan because that in combination with the way that Louis’ moving his hand is almost enough to send him over the edge within the first sixty seconds of this starting. He can’t actually imagine what could possibly be more embarrassing. Then again he thinks that about a lot of things but somehow life always pulls through and finds some new way to humiliate him further.

Concentrate. Handjob. It’s happening and Harry’s spending the entire time thinking about what would happen if he came in under a minute. He’s sure he could be utilizing his time better.

It’s when he looks at Louis’ face; tongue poking out the very corner of his mouth a little bit and eyes scrunched in concentration, that he lets out a whimper. A whimper. Harry is whimpering. He can’t help it; it just feels so _nice,_ the way Louis seems to know all the right ways to move his hand, when to speed up and when to slow down. And perhaps the part that’s bringing it all together the most is how much he seems to be _enjoying_ it. Of course Harry expected _himself_ to enjoy it, but he really wasn’t expecting Louis to be gaining pleasure out of this, too. He is. Harry can tell, and Jesus Christ he looks so fucking hot concentrating like that, his arm muscles working and his face all hard and serious.

He can’t really help the little noises he’s making now, but he doesn’t actually try to once he notices how Louis smiles a little each time he does, obviously pleased with the job he’s doing; he goes a little harder each time.

That means it’s roughly twenty more seconds before Harry’s jerking his hips around and muttering, “oh god, oh god,” and then he’s coming, on his top and on Louis’ hand and he’s breathing hard as he comes down from it; really fucking hopes he doesn’t have an ugly orgasm face. He’s never looked in the mirror while he’s done it.

It's over so quickly; almost embarrassingly quickly but he's sixteen and it's been over a month since he's gotten off so he can't even blame himself. He wouldn't be surprised if Louis decided to poke some fun so he's fully equipped with a comeback along the lines of, "I'm not desperate enough to wank in the shower but it's been weeks so you can't blame me." And well, there’s also that thing where he’s never received a handjob before but Louis doesn’t have to know that.

But Louis doesn't poke fun. Instead, Louis runs his tongue along his bottom lip as he stares down at Harry's dick in his hand before trailing it up his side and ducking in to kiss him hard on the lips. Harry’s slightly caught off guard but it only takes him a second to regain his composure and kiss Louis back. Suddenly he feels a lot less shy; supposes that generally comes with the person not only seeing but touching your dick, and he reaches his hand back to tangle his fingers in Louis’ hair. This kiss is so different than the rest; seems familiar, like it has more purpose. Like a proper...Harry doesn’t know, _couple_ , maybe. Not that he and Louis are a couple or anything, but, well.

He really needs to stop thinking so much during these things.

Louis’ smiling as he pulls away, and when he goes to clean his hands off and Harry pulls his shirt over his head, something feels different, somehow. Something between the two of them.

Perhaps it has something to do with the fact  that a little piece of him has felt a bit like a burden all this time; like he needed Louis more than Louis needed him. Always sort of questioned whether Louis _actually_ felt something for him or if he was just trying to be accommodating.

For the first time, it feels like they’re on the same exact page; in the same place.

And when Louis slides back in the bed next to him, Harry doesn’t feel the slightest bit shy when he says, "It wasn't the boiled potatoes."

Louis laughs, tossing his arm across Harry's bare stomach and laying his head against the pillow. "Well I mean I didn't actually figure -- surely it's been a while since you've gotten off, can't blame you for it after what we were talking about at dinner--"

Harry interrupts. "It was the jello cubes, actually.”

Louis stares at him as though he’s grown a second head.

"They reminded me of your thighs."

He blinks. "Thats the most insulting compliment I've ever received."

Harry shakes his head, smile soft. "It shouldn't be. I like jello cubes. I also like your thighs."

Louis smiles back. “Thanks. They like you, too.”

 

* * *

 


	3. part three

People are strange.

Perhaps even more strange than people are the attraction to them, Harry thinks. Whatever it is about Louis that makes Harry weak in the knees; why not Liam? Or Zayn?

It could just be the timing, maybe. They both needed someone at the same time so it just _worked out_. But to Harry it seems like more than that.

To Harry, it seems like some forces of the universe worked sixteen years ago to make sure Harry’s last name began with S and Louis’ with T. Then all these years later they made sure to align everything which would work in a way that Harry and Louis would end up rooming together; would end up being enamored with each and both just so happened to not be romantically involved with anyone else.

Harry feels like the two of them meeting together here isn’t just a coincidence. They don’t just _fancy_ each other. It feels like more than that. It doesn’t feel like they’re just _settling_ for each other. It feels like this was _supposed_ to happen.

Well. Okay. Maybe he’s getting in a little over his head. He has only known Louis a little over a month, afterall, but it feels like so much longer, and for some reason his level of comfort is way higher than he feels it should be, considering the circumstances. Perhaps he’s getting a little smug; it’s all fate and Louis was _put on this earth_ to make him happy. He’s pulling all the strings to this puppet show. That’s how he feels sometimes. He feels like it’s all too good to be true and the world is revolving around him, for once, so he relaxes, just a little.

He knows that’s not true. That’s stupid, of course it is. It’s just the only excuse he can come up with for as to why life is actually turning out in his favor, for once. It’s thrown it’s curveballs here and there but generally, this trip has mostly come to his advantage. He may regret it down the road but currently, waking up topless with Louis snuggled into his side, he’s willing to say that more good has come from this than bad. For _once_.

At least he’s finally not the only person who’s ever touched his dick anymore.

Louis ruins the moment by rolling out of bed, deepening his voice and growling, “let’s go play some football!”

Harry rolls his eyes.

He’s actually, well -- not _as_ bad at football as he originally thought he was. Mostly he’s just realized he’s a bit too lazy, but Louis brings out the effort in him, mostly because Louis screams in his face like a drill sergeant if he doesn’t give it his all.

“I _know_ you know what to do, so _do_ it,” Louis tells him, gripping him by the shoulders in true team captain style.

Harry just nods his head, preparing himself to run which is precisely the very last thing he cares to do at seven in the morning, but at least it’s not hiking. He runs, he passes to Niall, Niall scores, Louis cheers, etc. Winning is beginning to become customary when he’s on Louis’ team, which makes it far less exciting than it was the first few times, but also equally still as exciting because he gets to walk around the campgrounds like a cocky little prat, everyone knowing his team won that morning. They also probably know that Louis had much more to do with them winning than Harry did, but it’s still nice to gloat.

“Well done today boys,” Louis mutters smugly to his team once it’s over, bumping fists with the majority of them before they’re all scattering for the showers or cafeteria before the next activity takes place. Harry sticks around.

They wander over to the sidelines together and sit on the bleachers to watch the younger kids play; Louis criticizes their technique but Harry usually just tries not to fall asleep.

He's still finding it hard getting used to the fact that Louis isn't going to think he's weird or pull away when he reaches out to hold his hand or rub his back, because Louis' about the most tactile person Harry's ever met and even if they weren't enamored with each other he probably still wouldn't mind.

It just so happens that they are and Harry really needs to build up some confidence before he gives Louis the impression that he's not that into him, so he does.

He reaches over and rests his hand between Louis' shoulder blades, running his finger nails along the cotton material under them. He's reminding himself of the girls back at home that are attached to their boyfriend at the hip and never leave them be which is kind of ridiculous considering this is probably one of the first times he’s even initiated contact with Louis but he can’t help but feel slightly paranoid.

He had one of those once; a girlfriend, slightly laughable now and set up by mutual friends, but still a girlfriend, nonetheless, despite the fact that he really never felt a thing for her and he doubts she did for him, either. He does remember that he liked the way it felt when she tickled his back with her acrylic nails and he isn't a girl and his nails certainly aren't acrylic but he liked it so he thinks maybe Louis will too.

He also thinks he probably looks fairly uncomfortable but Louis seems to melt into the touch so he figures he must be doing something right.

“When will these kids learn,” Louis groans, burying his face in his hands as if this is causing him a great deal of stress.

On second thought, he's also fairly certain that he probably looks like Louis' girlfriend right now and that leaves him feeling a bit silly; a clingy girlfriend who becomes overly attached after only three kisses and a handjob -- not that Harry’s counting -- so he lets his hand drop. “Maybe they need someone to whip them into shape,” Harry suggests.

Louis just shakes his head. “Too much work.” He pokes Harry in the side. “Already got my hands full with you.”

“You know,” Harry sighs bittersweetly, reminiscing, “it’s been real, coach. But I think I’m ready to fly the nest.”

Louis’ expression suggests otherwise.

Okay. Maybe he’s still not _that_ good. But the point is, he isn’t as bad as he _thought_.

“If you wanna be on my team there’s still a few things you need to learn, I’m afraid,” he shrugs, brow furrowing as he stares back onto the field. He tosses his arms up in the air dramatically when a kid kicks the ball off the field and huffs.

“Well why haven’t you taught me yet, then?” Harry wonders coyly, eyes narrowing as he grins at the concentration overtaking Louis’ features.

Louis rolls his eyes and turns toward him. “Don’t you remember what I told you? Patience is key.”

Harry ‘hmphs’ and slouches in his seat, resting his elbows against his knees, chin resting cupped in his palms. “I think you just like taking the mick out of me too much to _actually_ improve my game.”

Louis tries to hold back his smile but he fails. “Haven’t I told you you look cute when you get pouty?” he says, tone blasé.

Harry just rolls his eyes and this time he’s the one who has to hide his smile.

He thinks he could get used to this.

 

* * *

 

For some reason the last thing Harry can remember before his eyes crack open, squinting from the light, is having a dream about The Lion King, which is strange because he doesn’t think he’s actually even seen the film in years and he can’t remember the last time it’s crossed his mind -- that’s when he realizes that Louis is belting out The Circle of Life at the very top of his voice as he gets dressed and Harry figures this might have something to do with it.

He glances out the window and notices that the sun isn’t even up yet and this is when he groans and utters, “What the bloody hell are you doing?”

Louis’ pauses in his place and blinks at Harry a few times. “I’m singing.”

“Go back to sleep. Please,” he begs, burying his face back in his pillow.

“Get up,” Louis argues, “We’re going on a hike.”

Harry’s ears nearly fall off his head at these words and he just mumbles a, “not a chance”, into his pillow.

“And just why the hell not?” Louis wonders, walking over and dragging Harry by the arm. “It’s a beautiful morning and I wanna go out before there’s snotty little kids everywhere.”

“Louis it’s not even morning yet. I’ll wake up when the sun does,” he tries, but this doesn’t deter Louis from pulling him off the mattress until he lands on the floor with a thud.

“Come on, I’ve even set out your clothes for you. Up you get,” he pats Harry on the shoulder. “I’ll wait outside until you’re finished,” he offers politely as if they haven’t been getting changed in front of each other for the past month, and Harry rolls his eyes as he rises to his feet. He knows he isn’t getting out of this one so he complies and figures that maybe if they get back fast enough he can squeeze in a few minutes of sleep before the alarm sounds.

He gets changed into the shorts and t-shirt Louis’ pulled aside and meets him outside where it’s getting slightly lighter as the time passes. He has a feeling his chances of catching anymore sleep before the morning begins are dwindling.

“I know you’re going to complain,” Louis announces as he begins leading Harry toward the woods.

“But?” Harry continues, wondering where this is going.

“Nothing, I just know you’re going to complain. Pick up the pace,” Louis demands, reaching back and closing his hand around Harry’s.

He won’t say it’s _proper_ hand holding because their fingers aren’t entwined, but it’s pretty damn close, and he must say, cheesy or not, this feels like a new _step_ in their relationship and Harry is just far too giddy about this considering how early in the morning it is. And then -- there’s the fingers. He’s inclined to think something along the lines of their fingers fitting together like puzzle pieces because it would fit right into the cliche of boy sweeping you off your feet and bringing out on a romantic hike to watch the sunrise but he refrains because Louis’ carrying on too loud in the background anyway.

“Why do you walk so fast,” Harry whines, dragging due to the fact that he’s still half asleep.

“Because I wanna get to the best spot to watch the sunrise and if you don’t move it along I’m gonna watch it with out you,” Louis threatens.

This idea sounds like music to Harry’s ears. “Fine by me, I’ll be in bed.”

“No. I didn’t mean that. You’re gonna watch it with me and you’re gonna like it,” he decides firmly, and Harry has to actually commend the effort; he can’t say anyones ever made such a sweet gesture toward him before, even if it means being -- quite literally -- dragged out of bed before the sun is up.

“All right, all right,” Harry smiles, and this seems to please Louis enough to slow his pace slightly and remain mostly quiet the rest of the way to the clearing.

“Ta da,” he offers once they’re arrived to a tree-less patch in the center; the suns just starting to come up so Louis must have timed it perfectly, which doesn’t surprise Harry because he seems pretty familiar with this specific spot.

“Charming,” Harry mutters as Louis plops down on the ground and pats the spot next to him. He can’t say he’s entirely convinced that sitting in dirt, grass and possibly mud at this time of morning is a great idea but Louis’ smile is so bright and proud that he can’t even try to decline. He sits down next to him and looks up at the sky, his view framed by trees.

“Tell me about your hopes and dreams,” Louis offers, and Harry’s face falls.

“I was trying really hard to refrain from pointing out that this is the cheesiest thing you could have possibly done but you’ve ruined it now, I have to.”

Louis pouts dramatically and slumps his shoulders. “‘last time I try and impress you.”

Harry grins, feeling fluttery and weird and he has a feeling that no matter how many times Louis says something like this, it won’t ever get old. “But it’s also the sweetest, so thank you.”

Louis’ smile lights up again and Harry feels pleased with himself as they lean back and chat while the sun comes up and Harry basks in Louis’ company. As much as he hates the idea of waking up early he’d do it a million times over if every morning could be like this one.

The sky is turning orange above them and there’s the most perfect lighting casting down on Louis’ face, a sliver of sunlight peeking through the trees and illuminating his eyes and Harry feels quite literally lost in them, which is a whole new level of romance novel which he never hoped to reach.

It must be later than he thought because before he knows it, it’s fully light out and Louis’ standing up and saying, “we better head back, alarm’ll probably sound soon and I don’t wanna get told off for being out of the cabin.”

Harry just nods as he stands, too, brushing off his clothes and following him a few steps back into the trees. He takes in the wonderful figure of Louis a few steps ahead of him and thinks of how nice it is that he brought Harry here and what happened last night and well -- he just wants to suck Louis’ dick, really. He’s not sure why, and he’s certain it’s probably not the best idea, not here, at least, but something’s telling him that he really, really should. So he stops.

"Louis, wait..." he ponders momentarily, clutching onto Louis' bicep as he begins to walk away.

“What’s up?" Louis stops in his tracks, turning to face Harry. Harry blinks. He takes a step toward him and clears his throat.

His intention was to appear sexy and spontaneous and instead he fears he's just come off as an indecisive prat who clearly has no idea what he's doing but it's slightly too late to turn back now and he realizes he has to say something when he finds Louis staring at him expectantly.

"I..." he mutters, staring down at his shoes. "I was gonna..." he begins, but finds it difficult to find the words to continue so he just rolls his eyes and drops to his knees right then and there, much to Louis' surprise.

His shaky hands find the button of Louis' jeans and he looks up, begging for permission to continue, and Louis just stares back incredulously, undeniable approval etched all over his features, breath hitched and letting his hand fall to run through Harry's curls.

He’s filled with an unusual amount of adrenaline, he feels, but he only hopes that will work in his favor as he quickly undoes Louis’ jeans and tugs at the waistband of his boxers. Louis’ anchored himself against a tree and is staring down at Harry, waiting for him to begin, and Harry’s not sure he’s ever felt so much pressure in his life, not only because he’s never given a blow job before but also because he just doesn’t _do_ this kind of stuff; he’s never the one to initiate, that’s Louis’ job. He’s perfectly content sitting pretty and letting Louis call the shots but something about the opportunity just seems too good to pass up and Louis makes him feel brave so he does it; he tugs Louis’ boxers down and wraps his hand around his dick, already half hard and there’s a billion thoughts running through his head -- where to start, how fast to go, whether he should close his eyes and fuck _Louis’ dick is in his hand_ but he composes himself; he’s watched enough porn to know how this goes.

He also really fucking wishes Louis hadn’t chosen him shorts because he’s pretty sure there’s a rock in his knee.

He can hear Louis’ breath coming heavy from above and he ducks his head in and swipes at the tip with his tongue. So far so good. He doesn’t want to mess about and he knows they haven’t got much time anyway, so he doesn’t waste any time taking the tip in his mouth, running his tongue along and he can already hear Louis’ moaning which can only mean good things, so he takes a little more and a little more, bobbing his head and swirling his tongue, careful to mind his teeth. It’s easier than he thought it would be and the reaction he’s eliciting from Louis is making him enjoy it much more than he thought he would. He doesn’t completely hate it. At all.

Louis’ fingers are tangled in Harry’s curls, and each time he looks up through his messy hair to see the expression on Louis’ face, he smiles down and pushes his hair back, non-verbally telling him he’s doing a good job and Harry’s almost never felt so proud. He thinks this beats winning the spelling bee four years in a row.

His mouth feels so full around Louis; so obstructed, and each time it hits the back of his throat he has to keep from gagging a little, but it feels _good_. It feels fucking fantastic.

"Shit, fuck," Louis' voice is cracking, and from the way he's tensing up Harry knows he must be close so he mentally prepares himself; tells himself not to pull away or spit and just take it like a champ, and he's ready for it, he really is.

But he hears the ground crunch behind him and he nearly chokes. He stills for a second and raises his eyes to see Louis staring behind him, and he slowly pulls off and turns his head, preparing for probably the most awkward moment in his awkward sixteen years of life.

But it's not a fucking _person_ \-- no. It's a fucking _raccoon_ and once Liam's words run through his mind he's on his feet before he can even process it, and he's muttering, "fuck, fuck, fuck," as he books it back to the cabin, breath heavy and heart thumping. He can hear Louis calling after him as his feet pound into the damp ground but he'll be fucked if he just stands around and gets fucking _rabies_ from a goddamn raccoon.

It's only once he gets back to the cabin that he realizes that he just left Louis about five seconds away from an orgasm in the woods with a possibly rabid raccoon and he can feel his face grow red. He can only imagine how stupid he must have looked; he could have at least finished and _then_ ran for his life. He considers hoping that he can force himself to sleep and wake up to find it was all a dream but he knows deep down that that isn't what's going to happen and he wracks his brain for something to say when Louis makes it out of the woods. _If_ he makes his way out... Harry doesn't rate his chances of survival all that high if Liam was right about this whole rabies thing.

‘Sorry I got scared of a raccoon and didnt finish you off’? ‘Hope you got off okay with out me’? In a perfect world there would be a hallmark card for this. Harry wishes he could be so lucky.

He slumps down on the porch steps, for once deciding to face the consequences of his actions rather than run away from them, as uncharacteristic of Harry it would be, and it's only a minute or two before he sees Louis trudging toward him.

He doesn't say anything; just smiles as he brushes past Harry and walks inside and Harry follows him in.

"I'm sorry," he tries, and though Louis seems to find the situation more humorous than anything, Harry still can't help but feel guilty and he has no idea how he's going to make it up to him.

Louis blinks. "You left me to jerk off in the woods by myself. Do you realize how pathetic that sounds?"

Harry just blushes; he tries not to laugh as Louis changes into a clean shirt. "Liam said if raccoons are out during the day it means they have rabies."

He turns around and stares at Harry, eyes wide and mouth agape. "So you left me on my own?!"

"I didn't mean to," he mutters innocently. "I figured once you saw me screaming and running away you'd get the hint and follow."

Louis quirks his eyebrows. "All right, all right, no need to get smart," he offers, tossing himself onto Harry's mattress. He clears his throat after a silence settles over them, Harry standing smugly by the door. "I have to say," he begins, smoothing out the wrinkles in his shirt. "That was a brave move. Didn't know you had it in you. But it was...I mean, you're really good at that," he stumbles, messing about with the hem of his shirt, and Harry can't help but grin because he really enjoys the fact that he can make Louis nervous like this. "So thank you. It was nice. I mean, until the end."

Harry flushes and twiddles his thumbs, feeling ever so teenage-girl-in-a-cheesy-film. "You're welcome," he says softly.

However he still doesn't feel any less embarrassed and he has a feeling it probably won't wear off any time soon.

 

It’s especially not easy to feel less embarrassed about it when Louis won’t stop teasing him for it all day.

The first time he does it Harry thinks maybe -- just maybe, it could be interpreted as a mistake; a funny coincidence. Maybe Louis doesn’t even notice he’s said it at all.

They’re having their second go at archery, and while Harry isn’t even slightly more enthused than last time, he’s at least a little more at ease knowing that now, he has Louis by his side, opposed to before when he was -- well, at the other end of the field.

It sounds a bit silly now. He supposes he should just suck it up and accept the fact that Louis is his new security blanket.

“Just square your shoulders, pull back, aim sharp. And make sure you follow through.”

It takes him a second and he just chuckles to himself; tries to glance over to see if there’s some sort of smug grin on Louis’ face but he doesn’t want to make it obvious in the chance that he actually did mean it innocently.

A couple minutes in and he’s beginning to wonder why he even considered the possibility.

It becomes blindingly impossible to ignore after, “don’t let it scare you away!” “it’s hard but it’ll get better if you stay ‘till the end,” and “don’t run off now, you’re just getting the hang of it.”

Harry is about three seconds away from turning around and punching Louis right in the teeth and that’s when Liam shows up, somber and glum, kicking dirt around under his feet. “This is so stupid.”

Louis just rolls his eyes and goes back to his own bow. Meanwhile Harry tosses his to the ground and pulls Liam aside by the arm, walking him a few meters away from the set up. “Can I ask you something?”

Liam shrugs. “Go for it.”

“What you said about the racoon -- remember? That they don’t come out during the day...Are there any, I dunno. Exceptions to that rule?”

He doesn’t know why he’s even bothering to ask. Part of him just wants to feel assured that what he did this morning was completely necessary and that he didn’t overreact at all. However there’s always the possibility that Liam will say he’s completely stupid and a fucking racoon is no reason to abandon a nearly finished blowjob -- not to say he’s going to tell Liam about the blowjob part. He just wants to find some way to justify his actions to himself and then he’ll feel maybe at least a little better.

“What d’you mean?” he wonders, eyebrows knitting together as if failing to understand what it is that Harry’s asking.

“You said they’re nocturnal -- they only come out during the day if they have rabies. Is that always true or is there an exception?”

Liam scratches his head. “I dunno. I guess maybe they could if they needed food or something? I’m not exactly a nature expert, Harry, maybe you should ask an instructor,” he suggests. “Why are you wondering, anyway?”

Harry clears his throat, shaking his head. “No reason. Just wondering. You know, future reference and stuff. Gotta be safe,” he trails off with an incoherent ‘aghhhh’ and this is when Liam turns to glance at Louis and back to Harry. He quirks an eyebrow.

“Okay?”

“I -- it’s not to do with...Why do you think I’m asking?” he wonders quickly, hoping that he hasn’t somehow made what happened this morning completely obvious. He’s not sure how he possibly could have but with his luck he probably wouldn’t be surprised.

This is promptly when he notices Louis wandering over to them and he really wishes he would have just let it drop. “What did I tell you about running away?”

Harry can feel his face go red and he brings a hand to his forehead, pushing his hair back. He blinks at the floor a few times, painfully aware that he shouldn’t be anywhere near this embarrassed considering Liam still has no idea what happened, but he has a feeling that if this conversation carries on much longer he’ll find out. “I was just...”

“Wondering if all raccoons are nocturnal...” Liam finishes for him, though it sounds more like a question than a statement and Louis laughs.

“I don’t think that information will help you much now, will it,” he offers and Harry actually thinks his face is redder than the fucking apple that Niall is aiming his arrow at in the distance. Why is this happening to him.

“Anyone care to fill me in?” Liam wonders, though at this point it sounds like he’s pretty much given up on the conversation completely.

Harry doesn’t even bother trying to beat Louis to the chase because as soon as Liam closes his mouth, Louis’ saying, “Our little Harry just had a bit of a run in with a racoon this morning,” he pats Harry on the shoulder, and he cringes. “But it’s all right -- he got away just in time, didn’t you?”

“Mhm...” Harry mumbles, looking anywhere but up.

Liam smiles. “Raccoons must like you,” he claps a hand to Harry’s shoulder before offering a nod to Louis and wandering off, and Harry breathes a sigh of relief once there’s no longer a chance for Louis to spill what _actually_ happened.

“Harry?”

His head finally snaps up and he’s greeted with Louis’ smug little stupid face smiling at him. He wants to rip that face off sometimes. Then put it back and kiss it better, then rip it off again, etc. “Yeah?”

“You know I’m never gonna let you live this down, right?” he wonders, and Harry just nods.

“Yeah I didn’t figure you would.”

 

And he doesn’t.

In fact, that night at the camp fire, when Louis brings it up for the eighty ninth time, Harry almost chokes on his own spit and actually hopes he might stop breathing so he can just die and not have to be put through any more of this humiliation.

Harry pledges that Louis is sleeping on the couch tonight -- if they had a couch anyway; unfortunately they don’t, so he’ll just have to resort to sending Louis off to his own bed. But of course he still doesn’t.

Louis smells like fire, and Harry supposes he must as well, but he really can’t bring himself to suggest they go for a shower because it’s all just far too cozy and he’s feeling far too lazy and once he’s snuggled into bed, it’s nothing but a distant thought.

Louis’ pushing the window open and letting the breeze in and it’s making him think of autumn; a little reminder that this won’t last forever -- that the summer is coming to an end sooner than he’d hoped and he knows he needs to drink it all in when he can.

He closes his eyes and just for a minute he’s home again -- curled up with his mum on the sofa, windows cracked and apple scented candles burning, crisp, early October air sifting in. He thinks about baking pumpkin bread with her and raking leaves in the backyard -- “the man of the house” she’d call him. Usually when she needed work done, but she said it, that’s the point.

That was before she got remarried; back when Harry was the only ‘man’ left in her life, and he uses the term loosely because he was hardly thirteen and he wouldn’t even call himself a man now, but there’s still some sense of pride he felt from taking care of her, or at least _feeling_ like he was taking care of her, and every once and while when he gets a chance to reflect, like right now, he sort of misses the days before she met his step dad.

He likes the guy all right -- it’s nothing personal, it’s just that when he thinks about it, he misses those days more than he ever thought he would and he regrets not savoring them while they lasted. He was young and while he did enjoy spending time with her, mostly he would have rather been hanging out with his friends; only didn’t because he’d have felt too guilty leaving her on her own, but that was only because he didn’t fully understand.

He’s older now and he knows that he’s the one who pulled his mum through; knows he was the reason she got back on her feet, met someone new and put her life back together. He still is proud of that. He’s happy that she’s happy.

He just sometimes wishes that he was still the only one she needed.

It’s a nice feeling, to be depended on by someone, even if you are thirteen and it’s only your mum.

Now she has Robin to rake the leaves and fix leaky pipes, and to be honest Harry doesn’t mind all that much. He hates raking the bloody leaves. It would just be nice to have the option.

But he’s over it, mostly; knows his mum will always love him no matter what. Even if he isn’t the only man left in her life anymore, he knows he’ll always be the most important. He doesn’t harbor any horrible feelings toward anyone.

He supposes the only reason it’s really come up again is maybe because -- well. He sort of does feel a little bit depended on, here. And it’s not as if he thinks Louis would be a sobbing mess with out him or anything -- he knows it’s nothing like that. But every once in a while when Louis seeks him out -- begs him to go to the cafeteria or play football -- he feels like Louis does depend on him a little bit.

And it’s nice to feel needed again.

“Hey.”

Harry’s broken from his thoughts when he feels the mattress shift and he opens his eyes to see that Louis’ sat down on the edge.

“Scoot over a bit, make me some room,” he says, and Harry does; shimmies toward the wall and lets Louis lie down next to him, and next thing Louis’ letting out this content little sigh and tossing his arm over Harry’s chest. “You know I’m sorry,” he says, referring to his day full of torment.

“No you’re not,” Harry argues, because he’s perfectly aware that Louis is enjoying this way more than he’s going to let on.

“You’re right,” he admits, “but you do know I don’t mean it.”

Harry nods. “I know.”

Louis’ chin is lined up with his shoulder; faces mere inches apart and despite sleeping this way nearly every night, Harry thinks he’ll probably never get used to the proximity -- thinks he’ll probably always feel nervous. Mostly because he still worries about doing something stupid like sneezing on Louis’ face.

“I meant what I said this morning, though,” Louis continues, and Harry just quirks a brow and turns his head to face Louis straight on. His breath smells like marshmallows and the very last thing Harry ever thought he would find appealing about a person is their breath but Louis doesn’t ever cease to amaze him so he can’t say he’s all that surprised. It’s cute.

“About what?” he asks quietly, suddenly beginning to feel slightly conscious of his own breath because chances are Louis isn’t as bizarre as him and won’t find it quite as endearing. Although maybe he would. After all, Louis doesn’t ever cease to amaze him. He purses his lips together and waits for Louis to respond.

“When I said it was nice. I meant it. And thanks for, you know. Doing it,” he says, staring straight into the very depths of Harry’s soul via eyeballs. Harry feels naked.

He clears his throat, face going a little red. He supposes he has to laugh at himself at some point or this situation surely won’t get any better. “I’m sure it would have been nicer if I’d actually finished,” he grins, and Louis does too.

“That’s okay,” he reaches up to push a curl behind Harry’s ear, “I still enjoyed it.”

Harry smiles, teeth on full display now despite his best efforts. He isn’t really sure what to say; somehow “you’re welcome for the blowjob” seems like it may ruin the moment, so he sort of just shrugs instead.

Louis, on the otherhand, clears his throat and pushes himself up on his elbow. “You know, I was just thinking...” he starts, glancing around a moment before continuing. “It would only be fair if I return the favor.”

Harry blinks.

Yes. Yes, he would very much enjoy that. “Yes,” he says.

Louis laughs and Harry feels like slamming his head into a wall because he’s sure that there are about six dozen other responses he could have offered that _didn’t_ make him sound absolutely desperate, but his head’s a bit busy at the moment so he doesn’t think he can be blamed.

“All right then, I’ll be sure to skip the awkward introduction next time,” Louis chuckles, scooting down the bed a little as Harry’s face turns sixteen different shades of pink in the span of four seconds, not only from the embarrassment of his awful wording but also because Louis is about to give him a blowjob.

“Ah,” Harry manages as Louis fiddles about with the button of his trousers, and Louis’ face scrunches up in laughter as he turns to look at Harry.

“You weren’t this nervous this morning and you were the one doing it. Just sit back and relax, I’ll do all the work,” Louis offers, and. Yes. He’s right. Relax. Harry needs to remember to start doing that more. There’s almost nothing that could go wrong. All he has to do is lay here. The chances of him fucking something up are extremely minimal. That’s what he tries telling himself but he knows that the forces of the universe really enjoy working against him so he isn’t going to get his hopes up.

The next thing he knows, his dick is out, and this is when he again reminds himself to relax and pay attention more, because he hadn’t even got to take in Louis’ reaction. All he knows his that in an instant, warm fingers are curled around him, pumping a little and Louis’ staring down, dazy and lustful, eyelids drooping and blinking slowly as he works at the shaft.

Harry’s chest rises and falls and all he can hear is the sound of air flowing in and out of his own nose, hardly quick enough to even fill his lungs. _Relax_. He clears his throat. He might suffocate himself before he even reaches his climax. It wouldn’t be the first unfinished blowjob of the day.

When Louis ducks his head in, swiping his tongue across the tip, Harry’s eyes burst open and he feels like his rib cage is about to explode. He wants more; _needs_ more. He wants to feel this forever, Louis’ breath cascading over his thighs, mouth mere centimeters away from his dick, ready to touch any second. He wants to feel this suspense, he wants to feel the nervousness, he wants to feel the excitement, he wants to feel the fear, he wants to feel the pleasure, he wants to feel this cool summer night, smelling like fire with the window open, Louis’ head lingering about his crotch, about ten seconds away from receiving his first ever blowjob. Harry wants to stay here forever.

Louis drags it out; slow and careful and Harry’s glad, despite how achingly hard his dick is, because he wants to really remember this -- wants to really take it all in.

He repositions himself down next to Harry’s legs and grips a thigh with each hand, lowering his head to kiss under his belly button. And lower, and lower.

Louis’ hair is soft and it tickles the sensitive skin of Harry’s inner thighs, and that in combination with the hot breath cascading over his very obviously erect dick makes him shiver.

It’s really, really strange because anything else they’ve done before this just seemed like two horny teenagers who fancied each other and needed some relief. _This_. This is different.

It’s different because Louis is really taking his time; really making sure Harry’s enjoying it, and it just feels so much more _intimate_ than before. Harry isn’t sure whether that’s because it _is_ more intimate than before or if Louis’ just really, really good at giving head.

 _Relax_.

He takes Harry’s head between his lips and presses his tongue against the slit, giving Harry a moment to catch his breath before swirling it around, eyes sliding closed softly.

At this point Harry can’t even remember if he has eyelids to close because his eyes are practically bugging out of his head.

Louis takes him in deeper slowly, stopping every couple seconds to bob his head and move his tongue around, run his thumb along the base. As Harry gets more accustomed to the warmth enveloping his dick his eyes droop closed too, in a way that can only be described as sensual.

He doesn’t want this to ever end; each second it just gets better and better the deeper Louis takes him into his mouth, and he knows he won’t last much longer but he really, really tries because aside from the pleasure that’s coursing through him thanks to Louis’ mouth and tongue and lips, he’s not sure he’s ever felt so close to someone in his entire life and it scares him but he really, really likes it.

He feels completely exposed in the most pleasant way possible; more vulnerable than he’s ever been, whimpering and buckling under Louis’ breath, but he _likes_ it. He _loves_ it.

Even when he starts babbling nonsense as he knows he’s about to come, he doesn’t feel embarrassed or stupid or scared or _anything_ ; just _happy_. Louis goes faster and faster and Harry’s hips buck up over and over, eyes screwed shut as his breath hitches. He digs one hand in the blanket and one in Louis’ shoulder and with that, he’s coming and Louis is swallowing around it, lapping around the tip a bit for good measure.

As Harry regains his composure, Louis sits up and smiles, and then he leans in and kisses Harry hard on the lips. He can taste himself, bitter on Louis’ tongue as it meshes with his and he slides his arms around his waist, pulling him closer so their chests are pressed against each others’. He wants to never not be this close again and he whimpers when Louis pulls away and stands up to walk over and turn the light off.

Harry readjusts his pants and kicks off his trousers, and when Louis slides back into bed next to him, he wants to say thank you. He wants to say thank you and he isn’t quite sure how; knows this is one of those times where his wording will be awkward and unfitting but he can’t bring himself to care this time because he needs to thank Louis. He needs to. He fucking _deserves_ it.

“Thank you.”

He says it, and Louis doesn’t laugh. He smiles, and kisses Harry on the nose and then pulls him in close and Harry doesn’t think he’s ever slept better in his entire life.

 

* * *

 

"Row row row your boat, gently down the stream," Niall sings happily as he swings his ores around haphazardly, splashing water in every direction, in turn completely drenching everyone on board, which just so happened to be he, Harry and Liam.

Liam groans. "Niall can you please be more careful?" he whines, steadily rowing his own ores in order to keep the canoe from tipping.

Meanwhile Harry sits between them in the middle, curled over with his head in his knees and his hands clutching fistfuls of his hair.

He can do this.

All he has to do is focus and try not to vomit.

It's not gonna tip; Harry knows Liam won't let that happen, but being stranded out in the middle of a moderately large body of water with a maniac who clearly has no idea how to maneuver a canoe and one a little less manic but still fairly unsure how to maneuver a canoe is not at the top of his list of fun things, however there's only so many times he can fake sick.

So he just figures he'll sit still; he won't look, maybe he can pretend he's somewhere else, and it'll be over before he knows it.

Unfortunately it's hard to pretend to be somewhere else when Niall is constantly splashing water all over him.

"Harry..." he feels Liam poke him on the back, and he slowly uncurls and turns his head slowly to face him. He's sure he looks fairly silly sitting there practically two steps away from the fetal position, but if he's entirely honest he really couldn't be fucked. He will be absolutely damned before he ends up in this lake again.

"What?" he wonders sharply, and in an instant his hands subconsciously shoot to the sides of the canoe and he's holding on for dear life because the entire frame has started frantically shaking and he thinks he might actually die. He finds himself wondering if this is an earthquake. 

No, just Louis.

In his bundled up state he completely failed to notice that Louis and Zayn had rowed their own canoe right up next to theirs, apparently much better at this than Niall and Liam, and Louis has reached out and gripped the edge and started rocking it.

"Louis stop," Harry begs, eyes falling closed as he holds his breath and tries his very hardest not to freak out.

Niall seems to possess a different demeanor and instead is rocking along with it, swaying back and forth and giggling when Louis takes a break from rocking to splash water up at him.

This, of course, inevitably ends in a splash fight between the other four, and Harry's left curled up in the center, praying to god this ends soon because he knows if he bothers protesting it will only fall on deaf ears.

At one point Louis clutches onto Harry's hand, intent on pulling him over the edge and submerging him in the gap between their canoes, and this is when Harry decides that surely he must be safer on the floor.

He slides off his seat and settles himself on the dusty and now wet floor of the canoe, bringing his knees up to his chest. He grabs onto Liam's shoe as some form of stability but considering Liam is now flailing around as wildly as Louis, it's really not as stable as he'd hoped.

"Liam," he whines, shielding his eyes from the water pouring in.

It's useless even trying to speak considering everyone else is screaming so loud but he's not sure what else to do, and in the next ten seconds he's clutching onto Liam's leg and then the next thing he knows he's in the water.

And he's screaming.

There's water dribbling from his mouth as he reaches the surface -- disgusting murky lake water, may he add -- and he flails around for something to grab onto before Liam's behind him, clutching him around the waist. He calms enough to blink the water from his eyes and settle down, relaxing into Liam's comforting touch. Harry will remember this if he's ever in a situation in which he has to rank who's the better friend. It sure as hell wont be Louis. He stares up to notice that somehow Niall has made it into the other canoe and the three of them are staring down laughing at Liam and Harry floating in the water.

"You wanna get 'em back?" Liam's mouth is pressed against his ear, and as much as he wants to beg Liam to just get him out of here, revenge seems awfully sweet at the moment. "Stay here," he whispers, and Harry temporarily panics when Liam's arms loosen around him.

"Don't let go," he clutches onto Liam's wrist, but he wriggles away.

"Just a minute," he mouths, disappearing under the water and the other boys are too busy wiping tears of laughter from their eyes to notice.

Harry anchors a hand on their tipped canoe as he waits for Liam's plan to go into action, and just a few seconds pass before he pops up behind them, and in one swift motion pulls it straight over. All three boys are caught off guard as they go tumbling down with it and Harry can't help the smug little grin that forms on his face. Liam rejoins him in a moment and they laugh together as he drags Harry along by the wrist and they all resume their water fight _in_ the water.

All except for Zayn.

As perturbed and slightly terrified as Harry is, he can at least see the humor in it.

Zayn, on the other hand; he looks _pissed._

Harry can see literal anger pouring from his soul through his eyes as he clutches onto the tipped canoe, shivering with his sopping hair hanging pathetically in his face. Harry seems to be the only one who notices, so he swims back over, careful to avoid being pulled back under, and nudges his foot underwater.

This seems to be his first mistake of many because Zayn thrashes in a way which makes Harry fear for his life. “Hey, are you okay?”

If Zayn was angry before, Harry doesn’t even know how to begin to describe his expression right now. “No I’m not fucking _okay_ ,” he pounds his fist into the water, “these fucking piles of wank _know_ I can’t swim!”

Harry winces, biting his lip. He can clearly recall Zayn explaining this to him by the dock weeks ago and he now begins to feel slightly guilty in urging Liam on. This is sort of technically his fault.

“Well...” Harry begins, bringing a hand up from the water to scratch his head. “We’re not that far out. I’ll swim you back,” he offers, but Zayn just begins profusely shaking his head.

“I can’t _swim_ ,” he repeats, and by this point the boys’ water splashing fight has calmed and they’re all staring over wondering what the commotion is. Liam freezes when he sees Zayn’s hand gripping the edge of the canoe so hard that it’s shaking; it seems as though he somehow let the little fact that Zayn can’t swim slip his mind, and now he remembers. He looks like he feels like the most horrible person in the entire world.

He swims over and clutches onto Zayn’s arm but he flinches away, muttering something about how Liam owes him; _big time_.

Eventually the five of them manage to drag the canoes back to the dock, and in an instance with the help of Liam hiking him up, Zayn's taken off, presumably to the toilets to fix his hair or maybe to a secluded area of the woods to construct voodoo dolls of his four so called friends who have lead him through an afternoon of torment and misery.

Harry wouldn't be surprised at either situation if he's entirely honest.

"Gimme a boost," Niall demands, and Liam's grabbed him around the waist to shove him up onto the dock.

Harry's pulling himself up at the same time and somehow -- he's really not sure how, in the five seconds that Liam helps Niall up, and he pulls himself up, and Louis comes after him, an ore has managed to slam itself right into his left eye.

The impact causes him to go momentarily dizzy and he clutches at the side of his face before he hears, "shit, I'm _so_ sorry" and "are you all right?" buzzing around his head.

He tries to blink but he can already feel his eye swelling up, and when he looks around to see that the other three boys are crowding around him, the expression on Louis' face -- eyes wide and hands covering his mouth agape -- tells him that it isn't pretty.

"What just happened," he mutters pathetically, squeezing his eyes closed.

"Louis' a knob, that's what happened," Niall offers, and the sound that follows is only what Harry can assume is a sharp slap to the back of the head.

"I didn't mean to! It was heavy, and Niall bumped me and it flopped...and it just so happened to land on your face..." Louis mumbles, referencing the now abandoned wooden ore floating on the surface of the water. It looks far too innocent considering what it's just inflicted. "Can you open it?"

He does, but the winces he gets in return are not exactly what he was hoping for.

"Maybe we should get you to the nurse," Liam suggests, and Harry's eyes grow wide, pain shooting straight through to his head.

"How bad is it?"

There's silence for a moment. "Well..." Niall begins, but decides it's better not to finish after all.

Liam clears his throat. "It could be worse."

Harry groans, letting his head fall to his hands. "How bad is it?" he repeats as Louis grabs him by the arm and pulls him up, slapping him on the shoulder.

"Look on the bright side," Louis decides as he begins to guide Harry away from the lake and toward the infirmary, hand on his back as he’s temporarily half-way blinded, clutching his eye with one hand. It's throbbing. He doesn't even want to know what it looks like. He can hear the other boys trailing behind them as Louis continues, "this could make for a really good story."

"My mate smacked me in the face with an ore?" Harry wonders pathetically.

“Mate?” Louis wonders quietly, but before Harry has a chance to question it, Niall’s swung an arm around his neck.

“You could say you got in a fight,” he suggests, and then Liam’s trailing up closer behind them.

“Yeah with a bear! Or wait -- a raccoon!”

Louis starts laughing and if Harry’s eye wasn’t swollen to the size of a small mountain he might even roll them. Instead he just sighs.

 

“I _actually_ hate you,” Harry decides as he raises the ice pack back up to his eye and steps away from the mirror. He almost wishes he hadn’t looked.

He’s not sure whether it looks more like he’s gotten the shit beat out of him or like he’s a thirteen year old girl who’s gone more than a bit heavy handed on the eyeliner.

Either way it’s not a pretty site.

“You do not,” Louis says as he drags Harry from the toilets by the wrist. “The swelling will go down in no time.”

“Yeah? And the bruising?”

Louis clears his throat. “Anyway, I wonder how Zayn’s doing,” he swiftly changes the subject as they return to their cabin, and Harry yanks his hand away, crossing his arms.

“How long?”

Louis shrugs. “Couple days. A week at the most,” he explains, and Harry groans.

“I hate you,” he repeats, launching himself onto his bed.

“Hey now,” Louis settles himself on the edge, clutching onto Harry’s shoulder. “Don’t be cross. Who else have you got to impress?”

Harry can feel his face growing red and he closes his eyes, burying his head in his pillow. This is the second time today Louis’ classed himself in the high ups of Harry’s priorities and he just knows something must be coming.

“I think it’s cute,” Louis offers nonchalantly, bringing a hand up to ruffle Harry’s hair before bounding over to the other side of the room to change out of his wet clothes. Harry is beyond the point of caring. He may as well live in the lake now; he practically looks like a fish.

“Gee thanks,” Harry mutters into his pillow. He might think it’s precious that Louis has called him cute if it wasn’t such a pity compliment.

“Hey,” Harry glances up at this to see Louis pulling a clean pair of gray sweatpants on.

“Hm?”

“Earlier,” he begins, kicking his wet clothes over to the corner -- Harry reprimands him in his head but he’s a bit too focused on what Louis is about to say to do it audibly -- and wandering over to the chair across from the bunks. He sits facing Harry as he puts on dry socks, “‘my mate smacked me in the face with an ore,’” he quotes, and Harry quirks a brow.

“Yeah I’m trying to forget.”

“That’s sweet and all; mates. But I consider Zayn, Niall and Liam mates, too, and to be fair I haven’t sucked their dicks,” Louis explains. “I don’t think you have either, unless there’s something you aren’t telling me.”

Harry blinks.

There it is.

He knew it would come eventually, yet somehow he still hasn’t prepared how the fuck he was going to react and instead he’s sitting here staring at Louis, mouth ajar with a bag of ice on his face.

Louis’ suggesting that they’re more than friends, which has been obvious for a while now, but it’s never been given some official title or anything and _fuck_ would Harry really really like that, despite how cringey it all seems and despite how unused to and slightly scared of the situation he may be. He _wants_ to be Louis’ _boyfriend_. Maybe not in so many words because, again, cringey. But that doesn’t change the fact.

Never in a million years did he actually ever think he’d say that.

Well, not that he _has_ said it yet. He’s still a bit at a loss for words.

“Hello?” Louis breaks Harry from his thoughts. “Anyone home?”

Harry blinks. “The only dick I’ve sucked is yours.”

If there was an award for the person who gives the most inappropriate responses during serious discussions Harry would take home the trophy hands down; he’s learned this over the past few weeks. Thankfully Louis doesn’t really seem to mind. Harry thinks this is one of the reasons he really, really likes Louis.

Louis purses his lips together in a smile. “Great. That’s not really the point. I just mean that now...after everything that’s, you know...happened. You don’t _just_ consider me a mate...do you?”

Harry’s still for a moment before he shakes his head, soft smile reaching his lips. “No.”

Louis smiles too, crooked and bright. “Right, so what’s the least cringey way of going about this?”

Harry chuckles. He knows exactly what Louis means. “You don’t have to ask,” he offers. “I think we’re on the same page -- as long as we don’t actually have to use the word _boyfriends,_ ” Harry decides. _Being_ Louis’ boyfriend -- sure, that sounds wonderful. _Calling_ himself Louis’ boyfriend -- that makes him feel like a bit too much of a sap than he’s ready for just yet.

Plus there’s always the finer details like what the fuck will happen when they leave here -- will they have to _break up_? Harry thinks if they don’t _actually_ title each other boyfriends that can be avoided.

Louis’ face breaks out into a one billion watt smile. “So I guess that means you’ll be my date to the dance this weekend?”

Harry’s eyebrows knit together in confusion as he props himself up on his elbow. “Dance?”

“Yeah,” Louis looks confused, “no one told you about the dance?”

Harry shakes his head. “When is it?”

“Saturday night!” he explains happily. “A bit cheese ball, but it’s at least something different. The music’s usually not too bad either.”

The music is just about the absolute last thing on Harry’s mind as he’s reminded of the monstrosity that is his left eye. “How the hell am I meant to go to a dance looking like this?” he groans.

“Oh, Harry,” Louis stands and makes his way over, “Don’t worry, you’ve got a few days for it to fade. Besides, you’ve already got yourself a date so why fret? That is...if you say yes...” he trails off, raising his eyebrows in expectance as he sits on the corner of Harry’s bed.

Harry’s about to say yes -- really. He even opens his mouth. But just before any sound can come out, their door is bursting open and Liam is storming in. “Zayn hates us!”

Louis blinks. “Have you ever heard of knocking?”

“ _Zayn hates us_ ,” he repeats, clearly in a great deal of stress. “It’s all your fault.”

“ _My_ fault?” Louis stands, face reading disbelief. “You’re the one who tipped the canoe!”

“Yeah but you started it!” Liam offers in rebuttal.

Harry’s not exactly sure just how serious this conflict may be considering he still doesn’t exactly know Zayn all that well -- at least as not as well as Louis and Liam do -- but he still can’t help but feel slightly guilty considering Liam was only jumping to his defense. He’d like to think Zayn will be over it by tomorrow but considering the story Liam recounted to him about the fish they hid under his pillow, he’s not all that hopeful.

“He’ll live,” Louis decides in a huff, rolling his eyes and climbing up onto his bunk.

“It’s _Zayn_ we’re talking about Louis -- at this rate I’m not sure he’ll ever speak to us again!” Liam continues, clearly taking this much more seriously than Louis is.

“Well good then I’ve got one less person to add to my Christmas card list,” Louis decides casually, and Harry actually has to suppress a chuckle at this because it’s very clear that Liam is genuinely worried and he doesn’t want to appear heartless. Granted, there’s not much for him to offer but he thinks refraining from laughter is probably a good start.

“You’re really meaning to tell me you don’t care,” Liam crosses his arms, staring up at Louis expectantly.

Louis sighs, loud and dramatic. “Of _course_ I care, Liam, but you know how Zayn is. He gets all moody and throws a strop and doesnt talk to us for ages, and then he comes right back and pretends nothing ever happened. I don’t understand why you get so worked up over it.”

Liam’s face drops. “Because he’s my friend.”

“Yeah? He’s my friend too.”

Liam’s hands fall to his sides. “Yeah well you may wanna reconsider that because you sure aren’t acting like it.”

Louis sighs again, even more loudly and more dramatically than the first time. “I’ll talk to him tomorrow.”

“Why not today?” Liam demands.

“I was in the middle of something important,” he explains, but this doesn’t seem to be a good enough explanation for Liam who seems to be more and more annoyed with each passing second.

“What could possibly have been so important -- ”

“I was asking Harry out.”

Harry isn’t sure whose eyes grow wider; his or Liam’s, though he figures it’s probably Liam’s considering he still can only open his one eye so far. Liam blinks. “Oh. All right, well. Sorry. I’ll just...come back later I guess...” he trails off awkwardly, brushing imaginary dust from his t-shirt. “Have a nice night then.” He turns to Harry. “Hope your eye feels better.”

And with this he’s abruptly turned and left, possibly as shocked as Harry is.

 

* * *

 

As it turns out, Zayn still hasn’t come around by the time night falls, and when they’re pitching tents in the woods, he’s no where to be seen 

“He told them he was allergic to dirt,” Niall explains, and Harry is genuinely not sure how the fuck Zayn has gotten away with this excuse.

Liam knew. It’s obvious he’s known for a while because he’s certainly not acting any differently, and Harry figures that if this all was just dropped on him in one swift sentence; “ _I was asking Harry out,_ ” he wouldn’t be acting like nothing at all happened.

Harry wonders if Louis _talks_ about him.

He wonders if Louis goes to Liam for advice; wonders if Liam is the reason Louis brought up the topic tonight. He wonders if maybe as soon as Louis said those words, a light bulb went off in Liam’s head and he knew exactly what he was interrupting and that’s why he was so quick to drop it. He wonders if maybe that’s why Liam seems to look out for him a bit more than the other boys do -- because he knows Louis cares for Harry. He wonders what else Louis may have told him -- wonders if he knew _exactly_ why he was asking about the raccoons on the archery set up the other day. Suddenly Harry’s face flushes at the thought of anyone else knowing about this horrible encounter and he needs to step a few meters away from Liam in order to collect his thoughts.

“You are absolutely useless,” Louis decides as he notices Harry has been standing in the same spot with a pole in his hands for the past two minutes. He snatches it away and rolls his eyes and Harry’s offended; at least he’s sort of trying. Niall’s lying on the ground trying to fit marshmallows between his guitar strings.

Louis and Liam seem to be fairing just fine on their own, anyway, so he decides to toss some more sticks into the small fire they’ve created, littered amongst the other little set ups of all the other campers scattered through the woods. Initially Harry wasn’t crazy about spending the night outdoors, but once he was reminded that he wouldn’t have to sleep on his mattress he warmed up to the idea. He’s certain that a sleeping bag on the ground must be more comfortable.

“What the hell are those gonna do?” he hears from behind him, and he turns to see Louis walking up behind him. “Twigs don’t keep a fire burning, I’m afraid.”

“Would you like to criticize anything else I do tonight or will that be all?” Harry wonders, sulking as he continues to kick small sticks into the fire.

The boys laugh but Harry, for one, sees no humor.

“I’ll go get some more wood; _real_ wood,” he offers. “You stay here and make sure no raccoons make their way into our tent,” he winks, nodding his head toward the tent he’s somehow managed to construct all on his own. Harry supposes a few years of experience have come in handy because Liam’s nearly finished he and Niall’s, too, obviously with out help from the aforementioned.

Harry rolls his eyes. Louis wasn’t joking when he said he was never gonna let this go, but Harry supposes he wasn’t expecting him to.

Louis wanders off to another group; probably to charm them into giving him some of their unused fire wood rather than gathering some on his own, and Liam comes up and sits next to Harry, kicking his feet out by the fire.

“Is Zayn all right?” Harry wonders quietly. He’s not just asking to be polite; it’s honest. He genuinely is concerned. In all the time he’s been here he still doesn’t feel he’s quite figured Zayn out and even though they’ve made progress from the first day, Harry’s still always had the feeling that Zayn isn’t quite as fond of him as the rest.

Maybe if it was Niall or Liam he would go talk to them, but he just wouldn’t feel right talking to Zayn; like it isn’t his place. Maybe because he’s not quite sure Zayn’s accepted him yet like the rest of them have and maybe he blames Harry for this whole thing, too.

“He’ll be fine,” Liam says casually, though Harry can tell he’s still slightly unsettled by the whole situation. Considering his outburst in he and Louis’ cabin earlier, he figures Liam’s probably still slightly more worried than he’s letting on, but also probably thinking more sensibly, now. “He can be more over dramatic than Louis, sometimes.”

Harry smiles. He wasn’t sure that was possible up until now. “Could you tell him I’m sorry?”

Liam looks confused and he glances over at Harry, light flickering onto his face from the reflection of the fire. “For what? You’ve not done anything,” he says, poking some logs around with a stick he’s found on the ground.

“Yeah, I just -- ” Harry sighs. He’s not really sure what he wants to say, but he knows Zayn doesn’t seem to be crazy about him, so he must have done something wrong.

“He likes you,” Liam explains reassuringly, as if he’s reading the very thoughts on Harry’s mind. “I know he’s got a weird way of showing it, but if he didn’t like you, you’d know. Everyone would know,” he chuckles, and Harry smiles, too. “He can just get a bit jealous, that’s all. He and Louis are best mates -- I mean, we all are. Well, you know what I mean. Think it just takes him a bit to adjust to new people, that’s all.”

Harry nods. He knows. He can’t necessarily blame him, either. If some kid he didn’t know were to come and join their little group after years of it being just them -- hell, after just a couple months of it being just them, he probably wouldn’t be very happy about it either. But he hopes what Liam said is true -- that Zayn likes him. He thinks Liam of all people would know, and he doesn’t think Liam would lie to him.

That doesn’t change the fact that he still feels undeniably guilty about what happened in the lake.

“Anyway,” Liam shrugs, dropping the serious disposition and straightening up. “I’m sure he’ll be back with us in no time. He can only skip out on recreation so many times -- _allergic to dirt_ , what the hell is that,” he wonders in disbelief.

Harry laughs. He wishes he could have used that one about the lake; maybe that way this whole thing could have been avoided.

Louis comes back eventually, arms full of fresh wood ready to burn and once Niall stops fussing about with the marshmallows, he comes and joins them, too.

Louis' sitting on the ground with his back leaning against the log and with out a thought Harry drops down next to him, leaning over so their arms are pressed against each others. They’re sat a while roasting marshmallows under the strict eye of Louis and mucking about and soon the crazy day just melts away and it’s all laughs again.

Niall's playing Songbird by Oasis on his acoustic guitar, mirroring the way Louis' leaning against the log, leg tossed over Liam's who's sitting aside him. Harry thinks it's about the prettiest song he's ever heard, and he would never really peg Niall as a singer but his voice is so lovely; soft and high and smooth, with the slightest rasp accompanying at the end, and it sounds like he was made to sing this song.

Harry feels a bit sappy and caught up in the moment and he can't help but inch his hand over to run his pinky along Louis' hand.

Louis apparently takes this as a gesture to pull Harry into his arms, so that his back is pressed up against Louis' chest, head on his shoulder. He wraps his arms snug around Harry's waist, and Harry's reddens a little as he realizes this is generally the first time he and Louis have ever really been like this in front of the boys, and he can't help but wonder if it's got them feeling slightly uncomfortable, because it's making him, just a bit. He glances around and no one seems phased; not even when he feels Louis' lips fall onto the top of his head, nor when they linger there for more than a few moments.

Niall carries on playing the same three chords once the words are through and Harry lets his eyes slide closed, and he figures he must doze off at some point because when he comes to, Louis and Niall have taken to changing Liam Gallagher’s lyrics to some about the cafeteria’s lasagna, and then sweaty gym socks.

Liam seems to be in a constant state of eye rolling and it’s not long before he declares, “right then, I’m heading in. Goodnight, you donuts.”

Niall calls him a poo head but it’s not long before he’s following, because Louis adds, “me too, actually. See you on the other side.”

They put the fire out and Niall retreats into the tent with Liam, and Harry and Louis head to theirs. They unroll their sleeping bags and slip in, only when Harry tries to zip his up, he realizes that the zipper seems to have malfunctioned.

"Louis," he whines, pulling the zipper back and fourth. "Mines broken."

Louis rolls his eyes, settling into his. "Surely you'll live?"

"What if bugs crawl in with me or something?"

"Welcome to the great outdoors," Louis muses happily, breathing in the stupid fresh air.

Harry just groans, trying his very hardest to cocoon himself up and defend himself from harm. It doesn't prove to be working very well. "I can't do this," he mumbles sadly, hoping that perhaps he can nick Zayn's 'allergic to dirt' excuse before it's too late.

Louis huffs, loud and dramatic as always and unzips his sleeping bag. "Come on then, we'll share."

Harry weighs his options. While he's awfully tempted, these sleeping bags were made for one person and that's obvious. He's not exactly sure how comfortable this might be, let alone if he'll even fit. Despite this, he still thinks he'd rather be smooshed up against Louis than be invaded by insects in the middle of the night. In fact being smooshed up against Louis sounds kind of nice.

He shimmies out of his and shoves it to the side, and somehow manages to squeeze into the space Louis has provided for them and he zips them up, like two little peas in a pod. Big peas, if scale is any matter. It's a bit tight but it's chilly in the night and having Louis pressed against his back sends him right off to sleep.

 

Packing back up the next morning isn't nearly as fun as the night before, especially not in the hot summer morning sun, and especially not because Louis has decided that since he put it together, Harry should be responsible for taking it down. "So much for being a gentleman," Harry mumbles off handedly as he struggles to collapse the tent.

"Hey, who kept you warm and safe from harm last night when your sleeping bag broke?" Louis reminds him, kicking about the remains of last nights fire.

A loud sigh sounds from behind them and then, "You two make me sick," Niall decides dramatically, having his own amount of difficulty  taking down he and Liam's tent.

Harry flushes; Niall knows too.

Louis rolls his eyes. "No need to be jealous, I hear Donna from the lunch shift just broke up with her boyfriend."

Liam laughs and Niall says an audible 'yuck'. "Mate that's vile."

They have the Friday morning off, for once, probably due to the fact that they've just slept outdoors and all the girls are complaining about needing a shower. In fact, a shower doesn't sound too bad to Harry right about now, either. He somehow managed to get a twig tangled into his hair last night and after it took Liam about ten minutes to get it out, Niall and Louis laughing uncontrollably all the while, he can't help but be slightly paranoid about what else may have made it’s way in there.

"I'll race you," Louis suggests as they finally finish de-constructing the tent.

Harry takes one glance at the bags lying around below them; the ones that they're supposed to bring back to the supply room, but he isn't letting this chance slip from his fingers.

He catches Louis off guard by full speed sprinting back to their cabin, hearing a faint "I didn't say go!" from Louis. He ignores this; it's not as if Louis has always won from playing by the rules so he won't, either.

He quickly debates whether or not he should run by their room to grab his shampoo and a change of clothes because this will delay his time, but he figures beating Louis to the showers will not be nearly as victorious if he just has to leave again to gather his things. There's always the shampoo dispensers that hang on the wall of each stall, but frankly it smells like fish and that still doesn't solve the fact that if he doesn't stop by their room, he'll have to walk back to their cabin afterwards in nothing but a towel from the shelves supplied in the shower room. He also figures Louis will probably bring the tent and sleeping bags back to the supply room first so this will buy him some time.

He takes a quick detour to their cabin and in an instant is gathering up a change of clothes and his shampoo and body wash before rushing straight back out, heart speeding as his feet pound into the ground below him. When he gets there, he lets out a sigh of relief at the fact that he's finally won something against Louis.

Apparently the boys weren't quite as concerned about showering as the girls were because the showers are completely empty save for him. He sets his clothes on the shelf and picks a stall, smugly wandering over and setting the temperature before stepping in. He can't wait to rub this in Louis' face later.

Speaking of Louis, Harry's only in the shower for a minute or two before the curtain is being rudely ripped open, and there standing is the boy in question.

Harry blinks. Okay.

"I'm glad it's you in here because otherwise this would be awkward," is all he says before he drops his towel and steps in.

Harry is inclined to point out that this still is slightly awkward but he considers everything else they've done and he supposes it's really not all that out of the question.

"I won," he points out. He can't help when his eyes start wandering downward but then again, he isn't really trying. Louis is staring, too.

Finally, Louis' eyes meet his. "Doesn't count, you cheated," he says casually, nudging Harry aside to step under the shower head.

Louis is so tan. So, so tan. His skin, to Harry, is comparable to caramel and equally, he wants to lick it. All the way down to his waist where his tan line is apparent and  -- well, he wouldn't necessarily stop there.

Harry supposes that Louis' afternoons lying topless by the pool aren't all in vain.

“So,” he mumbles, reaching for his shampoo.

“So I’m still the best,” Louis decides casually with a shrug, opting for Harry’s shampoo as well, considering he’s clearly neglected to bring anything of his own. “You smell like a girl, by the way,” he adds.

Harry rips the bottle back and narrows his eyes. “It’s vanilla,” he mutters defensively, squirting some into his hand before closing the cap and setting it on the floor. Vanilla, in his humble opinion, is not gender specific.

“Relax, I didn’t say it was a bad thing,” Louis says, spitting some water from his mouth as he tilts his head back under the stream. “You smell nice,” he offers, and to this, Harry rolls his eyes. And then they get fixed on the little droplets of water running down Louis’ cheek, onto his neck and shoulders and inevitably down his chest, stomach, etc.

When he gets to the general waist area he notices that Louis is half hard but is easily ignoring it whilst he rubs shampoo into his sweat matted hair, and it's only a second before Harry's getting there, too. He was never really informed of shower sex etiquette considering he's never showered with anyone else before and he's really not sure if it's appropriate for him to touch himself, let alone Louis. He figures if they were going to, Louis would have already. Is there some kind of rule? No touching until the conditioner is setting in? He just continues running his fingers through his own hair under the tap, washing the shampoo down his back and legs until it swirls around the drain.

"It's not gonna get itself off, is it?" Louis breaks Harry from his thoughts, and all he can offer is a puzzled expression.

"Huh?"

"Unless you've got Jedi mind powers I don't think staring will help much," he smirks cheekily before he's looping his hands around Harry's waist, pulling him in. "And I've got to be honest, if you have Jedi mind powers and you've still been making me get out of bed to turn the lights off every night I'll be a little upset with you."

Harry just shakes his head, "I -- I don't --" but then he just says fuck it because for fucks sake Louis _knows_ he doesn't have Jedi mind powers, he's asking for a hand job and Harry will be damned if he sits here explaining that he wasn't sure if there was some unwritten law about not touching your special friend while they're washing their hair, so he just reaches forward and wraps his hand around Louis' dick, resting his head in the crook of his neck as a low groan emits from Louis' throat.

He still isn't the most experienced in the field but his confidence has grown considerably since the first time he and Louis have done anything of the type, and even if he does find some way to fuck it up -- which he's assuming is fairly impossible with a hand job -- it will probably end up being funnier than it is embarrassing.

He mainly just mimics what Louis did for him and combines that with what he's done for himself in the past and it seems to be smooth sailing; Louis' letting little moans fall from his lips and rocking on his feet, one hand up on the back of Harry's neck and one against the wall. Harry's lips are pressed against Louis' collarbone and he sucks a little; not enough to leave a mark, but once Louis tilts his head back, offering him better access he sucks harder, alternating that with kissing, hard and wet.

He's never given a love bite before, and he can distinctly remember the only one he ever received feeling like a dog going to town on his neck, and he really hopes that's not how Louis is feeling right now, but the way his hand has trailed up into Harry's curls in addition to the sounds he's making leads Harry to believe that he's enjoying it.

He keeps working his hand, drops of hot water and steam cascading over them. Louis keeps saying, "shit, Harry" and, "fuck", and Harry can tell this wont last much longer with how sporadic Louis' breathing has turned.

He comes a minute later, running hot over Harry's hand, and Harry slows down until Louis' come down from it, pressing a final kiss to his neck before slowly pulling away.

And then, Louis returns the favor.

 

* * *

 

"Louis," Harry whines, leaning in close to the mirror, blinking his eye open and closed. It's been a few days and while Louis was right about the swelling, the raw purple bruise mostly still remains.

"Harry," Louis mocks, whining back.

"I look like a thug," he complains, and at this, Louis bursts into laughter.

"Yeah, _you_ , a thug," he says to Harry after a moment, who's standing expectantly with his arms crossed. "I think that's about the last thing you have to worry about people mistaking you for."

Harry rolls his eyes and tosses his arms up in exasperation. "Whatever! Look at my eye," he says softly, turning back to the mirror. "The dance is tomorrow."

Louis groans. "Why do you care so much?"

Harry blinks after a moment of thought. If he's entirely honest, he really isn't sure why he cares so much. He's been walking around with this monstrosity for days now; there's nothing new to see. It's not as if the people who will be there aren't the same people he spends everyday with. There's no one new to impress.

He supposes, just maybe, that it has something to so with the fact that Louis' asked him; _he's Louis' date_ and well -- he wants to make Louis _proud_ to walk in with him by his side. It's silly; he knows, but he supposes deep down somewhere he wants to be worth Louis showing off.

He shrugs. "I don't."

Louis scoffs. "Then why have you been standing in front of the mirror for the past twenty minutes?"

Harry's face flushes. Louis is the master of not letting things drop. "Shut up," he mumbles, plopping onto his bed next to Louis.

"Oh, stop stressing, you," Louis says comfortingly, rearranging a few of Harry's curls. "You're gonna be the belle of the ball. Now all we need is a gown," Louis jokes, offering a toothy grin.

But this raises a new concern for Harry. "Louis?" he questions, to which Louis offers 'hm?'. "What are we meant to wear?"

Louis cocks his head to the side. "You don't really have to wear a gown, Harry, I was just joking."

Harry rolls his eyes. "I know that. I just mean...what's the limit on dinginess?" he wonders, picking at the hole in the knee of his jeans.

Louis shrugs. "Semi formal."

Harry groans. He briefly ponders whether black jeans count as formal when the ends are frayed and the back pocket has a hole worn into it because he's pretty sure those are the most formal article or clothing he brought. "Do you think I can tell them I'm allergic to music?"

Louis' face falls; he looks highly unamused. "You're not getting out of this one, Harry. You're gonna be my date and you're gonna enjoy it.”

Harry sighs. Yes, he will. He just wishes he had an eyepatch handy.

“You know,” Louis says, reaching out  and pulling Harry’s face toward him by the chin, and Harry narrows his eyes, “It doesn’t actually look that bad. You might be onto something here; I think this could be a new trend.”

Harry rolls his eyes and Louis starts laughing; he should know better by now than to expect anything truly insightful to come out of this child’s mouth. “Sod off,” he mumbles, standing from the bed.

“I mean it though,” Louis says, suddenly serious.

Harry turns to face him, quirking a brow.

“Even with a shiner. I’ll still have the cutest date in the place,” his smile is modest and small, as it tends to be in the rare occurrence that he offers a serious compliment with no witty remark or pun tailed onto the end.

Harry wants to roll his eyes and tell Louis to stop being such a sap but truthfully, he doesn’t really want him to.

When Louis says things like this a little volcano of sugar and kisses and butterflies and other cheesy things erupts in his stomach and he hates to admit it; he really, really does, but it’s his new favorite feeling in the entire world.

It stays in him until he goes to sleep that night, Louis curled tight behind him.

 

The next morning is calm and quiet; there’s no activities scheduled but everyone is still up bright and early - - or at least the girls are, running back and forth to each other’s cabins fretting about and getting ready, aiming to look their very best as opposed to the usual shorts, t-shirts and dirt that they sport.

Harry thinks it’s silly; it’s just summer camp and quite frankly, there are very few reasons he would ever be inclined to get out of bed before ten am by choice and some silly dance is not one of them.

Not that it’s any of his business or that he really cares all that much. He’s just glad that he’s not a girl because it seems like it takes a lot more effort than he would ever be willing to put forth. He supposes at the very least it’ll be interesting to see how different everyone looks tonight, all done up in nice clothes and make up. Sometimes he forgets this is still the real world, confined in this tiny, tiny place with the same people everyday, doing the same things.

He enjoys it more than he ever thought he would; being able to get away from home and not having to worry about the silly things he worried about there, but it’s still so strange to think of how everything back home is still going on with out him.

Instead of doing their hair and nails, the boys spend the morning kicking the football around, considering the pitch is empty with everyone preparing for tonight, but it’s not until they get to the cafeteria to eat lunch that Harry realizes something.

He can’t eat.

 _He has butterflies_.

He has stupid fucking butterflies because of this stupid, pointless dance that he’s going to accompany his stupid, goofy Louis to. He literally cannot handle himself. He’s turning into a mess and it’s pathetic. A big, messy, pathetic pile of mush.

He blames Louis, because before Harry met him, he was genuinely not aware that it was ever possible to like someone _so much_ in such a short amount of time, but yet; there he is. Louis the walking paradox.

Nothing seems to make sense anymore but Harry thinks he likes Louis so much that he actually doesn’t care.

It’s five or six by the time any of the boys bother starting to get ready, the sun beginning to set. It’s nearly dark by the time Harry even drags his bags out.

He stares into his suitcase and realizes that the pattern of jeans with holes in the knees and wrinkled t-shirts is becoming awfully repetitive. In fact he's certain he didn't pack anything else. He doesn't necessarily think he can be blamed, if he's honest; why should he have expected there to be a dance mid summer at fucking camp? Perhaps reading the pamphlet his mother bugged him to read could have helped to avoid this situation, but as far as he's concerned pamphlets are almost never helpful and frankly a waste of paper. He's pretty sure he threw it in the bin with out even opening it.

He sighs.

What the hell is he supposed to wear?

"Well?"

He jumps slightly when he hears Louis' voice behind him and turns to face him. "I haven't got anything to wear."

Louis peeks around Harry into his suitcase. "The pile of clothes in your bag begs to differ."

Harry rolls his eyes; he's gotten better at that now that his eye is almost fully healed. "Yeah but they're all...not nice," he mumbles.

"Little preppy country club Harold hasn't packed any slacks?" Louis teases.

Harry huffs. "I'm not going."

"Oh, stop. We'll find something for you to wear," Louis pieces through the items in Harry's suit case and looks just about as unimpressed as Harry was.

"Sure lets just swing round the shops and buy a new wardrobe, piece of cake," Harry mutters hopelessly, resting his chin in his hands as he sits cross legged watching Louis leaf through his clothes.

"Christ you've got a mouth on you, haven't you," Louis mutters absently while he tosses definite no's to the side. At this point it's fairly obvious that Harry's entire suitcase is a definite no. "Your poor mother."

"It's useless," Harry sighs. He knows this isn't exactly prom or anything, but he's fairly certain that faded ripped jeans and a Star Wars t-shirt don't exactly qualify as semi-formal.

"It isn't," Louis tells him, ever the optimist. "We'll find you something, between the four of us."

And thus begins the scattering from cabin to cabin, and by the end, the only clothes of his own that Harry is left with are his boxers and socks.

He's borrowed a white polo shirt from Liam, and some black trousers from Louis, and finally, a gray cardigan from Niall which looks slightly ridiculous considering how small Niall is in comparison to him, but Louis insists that it looks just fine, and besides ‘what if you get cold?’, so Harry doesn't bother arguing.

His scuffed up white tennis shoes are really his only option so, whilst slightly out of place, they at least offer some sort of familiar comfort.

"Precious," Louis promises as Harry smoothes his shirt out, fussing about with his hair in the mirror in the corner of the room. "And look, you can hardly even tell you were smacked round the face with an ore."

Harry blinks. "Okay. Thanks." It's true; the remnants of the massive bruise around his eye are nearly faded, though it's still constantly sore and he probably will never forgive Louis for this. Probably.

“I can’t wait 'till I get you on the floor, good looking,” Harry hears Louis sing-song from behind him and -- yes, that is indeed Louis grinding up against his bum, wiggling his hips and chest. Half of Harry is aroused until he imagines this situation from a standby point of view and then he just starts laughing because he’s certain that Louis must look fairly ridiculous at the moment, singing along to the imaginary contemporary rhythmic stylings of Justin Timberlake and grinding against his boyfriend’s back -- can he call himself Louis’ boyfriend? He swore he wouldn't do that -- face entirely too engaged.

“Sod off,” he chuckles, turning around and gently shoving Louis away by the chest.

“Show you a few things, a-bout love,” he sways, snapping his fingers and just barely thrusting his hips. If Louis’ voice was anywhere near the top of the priority list of things Harry’s paying attention to at the moment, he would have to admit that he actually sings quite nicely -- unfortunately he’s too focused on the slow pelvic thrusts and he has to advert his eyes in order to avoid a dilemma in his dress trousers -- ahem, Louis’ dress trousers.

He turns back to the mirror, straightening out his collar before looking to Louis for a sign of approval. He’s looking quite nice himself, donned in a pair of black jeans that Harry hasn’t seen before and a white, short sleeved button up. He gives a thumbs up and a grin, and then he says, “You look like a million bucks.”

Harry smiles. “Thanks. So do you.”

Louis’ nose scrunches up in a grin before he holds his hand out. “Shall we?”

Harry nods. “We shall.”

Everybody Wants To Rule The World is playing when they step into the newly redecorated cafeteria, thanks to the counselors, and Harry has to admit, he’s impressed. He hardly recognizes the place as he stares around at the decorations hanging from the ceiling and placed on the table tops.

There’s balloons tied to the corners of the tables that are lining the perimeter of the room and a makeshift DJ booth set up in front of the lunch line. It’s early and there’s only so much that can be done to a small wooden cafeteria, but as of now, Harry gives them an A for effort.

“Not too shabby, huh,” Louis decides, clearly equally as impressed. He reaches for Harry’s hand to drag him over to where he spots the boys by the punch bowl after a moment of searching in near darkness, and this is when it all hits Harry.

He’s at a dance.

With a boy.

It’s different when it’s just them; it’s not a big deal. And really, he doesn’t even care around Niall and Liam and Zayn.

This is _everyone_ ; all the kids from their age group, all littered around, entirely capable of glancing over at any moment and just happening to realize that Harry is holding hands with a boy.

He supposes it’s not really that big of a deal; it’s just something he isn’t used to and he can’t help but feel overly paranoid as Louis drags him around. It feels like everyone’s eyes are on them and even though he’s entirely aware that they all have better things to be paying attention to, the feeling doesn’t go away.

This is like a shot right back into reality.

It’s so _different_. Not necessarily bad. Just _different_.

“Looking quite dapper there, Mr. Styles,” Liam offers as he and Louis approach the three of them. He supposes they must have reacquired Zayn at some point along the way but he’s looking less than thrilled as he sits slumped over at the table.

“You clean up quite nice yourself,” Harry replies, and as Louis chats, Harry looks around at everyone messing about in the center where the tables have been cleared out to create a makeshift dance floor. No one’s really dancing; Harry supposes it’s not very easy to dance to For What It’s Worth By Buffalo Springfield, which has just started to flow through the speakers as Tears for Fears draws to a close.

This playlist is reminding Harry of the songs his dad makes him listen to on the long car trips from his mum’s house when he’s going to visit, which he wouldn’t necessarily mind if they weren’t being played to a room full of teenagers who clearly show no interest in them, if they even know them.

He’s broken from his thoughts when Louis’ shoving a cup of punch into his hands. “Oh, thanks,” he says quietly, bringing the cup to his lips. It tastes like cardboard and sugar. He supposes he shouldn’t have let the fancy decorations get his hopes up.

“Woah!” Louis exclaims to his left, clutching Niall by the shoulder and turning him toward the far corner. Harry’s eyes follow and right into his line of vision falls the middle aged cafeteria woman, all dressed up, sans hairnet. “Donna’s looking hot tonight! You’d be a foolish man to pass up this opportunity, Niall.”

Liam plunges into a fit of hysterics and Niall just rolls his eyes. “You’re such an idiot.”

“She said you had nice buns, she totally wants it,” Liam adds, and at this Niall’s face grows red.

“She meant the bread! You two are on another level of _weirdo_.”

“I’m gonna be honest mate, if you don’t walk over there and get her number I may just go get it for you,” Louis decides, and at this Niall’s eyes grow wide.

“Don’t even think about it.”

With the urging on from Liam, Niall’s words fall on deaf ears and Louis and Liam are laughing as they rush away to torment the poor cafeteria woman, and Niall’s chasing after them, leaving Harry standing alone, save for Zayn, who’s still slumped into his seat glancing around moodily.

Despite the fact that he doesn’t fully understand the whole situation, he can’t help but feel bad for Zayn and how much time he’s been spending by himself, so he walks over and takes the seat next to him. “Hey.”

Zayn looks over at him before his eyes trail back to the dance floor. “Hey.”

“Having fun?” Harry questions, looking down into his cup, swishing it around to make a cyclone of red against the white paper sides.

Zayn forces a small chuckle. “Not really.”

Harry grins. “Not really my kind of thing either.”

He expects Zayn to offer some sort of response, but instead he just sits blankly with his arms crossed.

Harry clears his throat. “Haven’t seen you around too much lately...”

Zayn shrugs. “Yeah, you know. Just...doin’ stuff.”

Harry nods. He’s finding this conversation slightly difficult to maintain but he feels like it needs to be done, so he keeps talking. “Lucky you got out of camping in the woods. I got a twig caught in my hair...”

He laughs at this; not audibly, but Harry sees his chest shake a little. He’s pretty sure that counts. “Sounds like you lot had a good time.”

“Not really...” he trails off, setting his punch down between his knees, clutching the cup with both hands. He taps his foot. “I meant to apologize for that thing in the lake the other day, too. It was partially my fault and well -- you know. Sorry,” he says, holding his breath as he waits for Zayn’s reaction.

He just shrugs. “Wasn’t you, Louis’ the one who started it all.”

Harry nods. “He feels really bad,” Harry lies and -- fuck. Why is he lying for Louis? Why is he even speaking for Louis? It’s beginning to make him feel like they’re more of a proper couple than he wanted to believe.

Zayn scoffs. “Could’ve fooled me,” he says. “He hasn’t spoken to me in days.”

Harry sighs. He figures Zayn must know about he and Louis by now through the word of Liam or Niall, and considering what Liam told him at the fire, he feels like there could be more of an underlying issue here than a tipped canoe, and he very well may have something to do with it. In fact it very easily could have almost nothing to do with Louis and everything to do with him.  “Zayn,” he begins, unsure if he even wants to open this can of worms. He hates deep conversation and maybe he should just leave it for Louis and Zayn to work out themselves. Maybe it would be better if he just didn’t intervene. But something’s telling him to, anyway. “I’m sorry.”

Zayn glances over at him and quirks a brow. “For what?”

Harry sighs, shoulders slumping. “I...I dunno. I just,” he sighs again. He genuinely has absolutely no idea how to even begin to word exactly what’s on his mind but Zayn’s a deep thinker; hopefully he can make some sense of it. “I know Louis’ your mate. And I just don’t want you to think...” he starts, but he’s stuck on a finish. “I just mean that I never wanted to -- if you ever want to, just...”

A third sigh. He can’t do this.

Zayn looks highly confused.

“If you ever wanna tell me to sod off. Just do it. I won’t mind, I promise. I know he was your mate first and I get it and if you ever just want me to leave you all to yourselves I won’t have a problem with it. I wasn’t trying to steal him away or anything,” Harry rambles, and he easily may have put his foot in it but at least he verbally got it all out.

Zayn just smiles; Harry thinks its genuine this time. Is it possible that _he_ , Harry Styles, has just gotten through to _Zayn_ , of all people? The one person he hasn’t been able to work out for the life of him since the day he got here?

“You’re all right,” Zayn offers, and Harry smiles, too. It’s only a few small words, but Harry feels like they’ve lifted a weight that’s been hanging on his shoulders this whole time with out him even realizing. “You wanna put ice cubes down Louis’ top?”

Harry laughs. This sounds like a fantastic idea, and even after being chased around the cafeteria by Louis for ten minutes afterwards, Harry still thinks it was a fantastic idea. The look on his face was priceless.

“What did I tell you about hanging around bad influences?” Louis scolds as they settle back by the punch.

“Can’t help it, I share a cabin with you,” Harry shoots back, and Louis looks impressed.

“Well played.”

Harry shrugs.

“Hey, let’s dance,” Louis suggests, standing up and grabbing Harry by the hand.

He almost doesn’t hesitate -- almost. He wouldn’t necessarily mind mucking about with Louis on the dance floor; he knows they’ll make a laugh of it. It’s just that there’s so many _people_ on the dance floor. They won’t just be tucked away off to the side; they’ll be in the middle of it all, unavoidable to any passerby’s field of vision.

“I don’t wanna,” Harry pulls his hand away, deciding he’s just not sure he can handle the kind of stress he feels like this will inevitably cause him.

Louis’ eyebrows knit together. “Come on, on your feet. What’s the point of a dance if you don’t...dance?”

Harry just shakes his head. “I just don’t like dancing.”

Louis smiles, leaning in to ruffle Harry’s hair. “Don’t worry, I’ll do all the work, you can just stand there and be my arm candy.”

Harry’s face goes warm. “People are gonna see,” he says quietly, finally voicing his actual reason for not wanting to head onto the dance floor.

“So what? You’re not embarrassed of me, are you?” Louis jokes.

Harry offers a chuckle. “I just mean like..because you’re -- well. And I’m. You know what I mean.”

Louis rolls his eyes. “I’m not sure if anyone’s told you but the number one rule of being my friend is that you can’t give a flying _fuck_ what anyone else thinks.”

Harry sighs, frustrated that Louis seemingly can’t understand where he’s coming from. “What if they say stuff?” he asks quietly.

Louis just shrugs. “What if they do? They probably haven’t gotten their dicks touched in the past week so they haven’t really got room to speak.”

Harry laughs at this; if there’s one thing Louis’ good for it’s lightening the mood. He’s also good for much more than that.

“So,” Louis holds his hand out once more. “May I have this dance?”

Harry rolls his eyes, but he doesn’t pull away this time; instead, he places his hand in the one being extended toward him and lets Louis lead him to the dance floor. You’ve Really Got A Hold On Me is playing now and Harry thinks this is very fucking ironic and pretty much sums up his entire stay here with Louis, but he doesn’t say anything as Louis snakes his arms around his waist, and he reciprocates by tossing his arms around Louis’ neck.

The stares are inevitable, he supposes. He can practically feel them burning into him and despite what Louis’ said to him, he still finds himself wishing the floor would just swallow him whole. He tries his very hardest to focus his attention on Louis and Louis alone, but it’s really difficult when he hears someone whisper something about ‘Tomlinson and the new kid’ about two meters away from him.

He can see Zayn, still somewhat sulking in the corner by himself, only mildly putting any effort into conversation when Niall and Liam join him. He's noticed over the past few days that Zayn hasn't been taking all this out quite as hard on Niall as the rest, but Harry assumes that's probably because it seems literally impossible to stay mad at Niall for more than three and a half minutes.

He also thinks it’s kind of funny because he knows Zayn isn’t actually mad anymore; that was obvious after their chat, but he’ll still pretend he is because well -- that’s just Zayn, isn’t it; ever the moody and mysterious.

"Why haven’t you spoken to him yet?" Harry wonders, temporarily absent from the swaying.

"Zayn?" Louis wonders. Harry nods his head. "Look. I didn't tip the canoe, Liam did, and that's their problem to work out. If he's still mad at me there's obviously some other reason and unless he decides to come and tell me what that is he can carry on being a prat and moping about by himself."

Harry sighs; thinks back to what Liam told him about how Zayn can get a bit jealous. Harry figures that after all this time being friends with him Louis should know this by now too, but either way Harry doesn't feel like it's his place to pressure Louis into speaking to his friend that he's known far longer than Harry, even if it may have every bit to do with him, and it clearly has, or at least it did, at least a little bit, but Harry thinks he mostly cleared that up. He wonders if Louis realizes it may have had something to do with jealousy but is continuing to ignore it and that only makes him feel worse. If he was Zayn he would be fuming. He doesn't _want_ to be Louis' priority over his friends. He never asked for all this mess.

He just wanted to spend the summer being lazy at home but somehow he's gotten himself tangled up in this crazy roller coaster of an adventure that he still has having a hard time finding words to explain.

Despite this, he can't pretend he doesn't love it, because he does. Far more than any summer he's ever spent lazing around the house.

He also uses his better judgement and six weeks experience of living with Louis to decide that surely he doesn’t mean any harm. He mostly chalks it up to the fact that he’s far too stubborn to apologize for something that he found entertaining.

“I think he’s okay now, anyway,” Harry says quietly, stepping a little closer, still ever aware of the people side eyeing them close by.

Louis shrugs. “Seems okay tonight. Why's that?”

“Dunno,” Harry lies. “Guess he just got over it, like you said.”

“About time,” Louis mutters, running his fingers along Harry’s waist.

“But maybe you should just still say sorry,” Harry suggests, gathering from past experiences recounted to him that Zayn will probably hold this over Louis’ head until he does.

“Will do, mum,” Louis rolls his eyes. “Can we stop talking about Zayn now? He’s not my date, you are,” Louis reminds him, bumping his forehead to Harry’s.

Harry -- who’s on the verge of nervously sweating from the amount of people standing around he and Louis. He tries to replay Louis’ words in his head; he really does. It doesn’t stop the people around him from judging them, though, and Harry just doesn’t _like_ it.

“And I’m you’re date, not them,” Louis says quietly, drawing Harry back into their little bubble -- their little Harry and Louis bubble.

The Harry and Louis bubble where all that Harry care’s about are Louis’ strong arms squeezing around his waist, making him feel snug and safe; where he genuinely gives a flying fuck about nothing but being here with Louis and being close to him and snuggling his face into the collar of his shirt.

They play a fun, current, upbeat song every now and again but most of the music selection is a bit outdated, Harry notices, though he can’t say he’s very surprised considering the state of everything else.

Turn To Stone by ELO is what starts blaring through the speakers next, but Louis doesn’t loosen his grip.

Harry knows the song; thinks back to his mum and how after one of her episodes crying about his dad she’d start doing the spring cleaning with her hair pulled back in a red bandana, saying she needed a fresh start. She’d always be smiling and singing and at the time Harry was entirely convinced that his mother must have been mentally unstable because how in the world could anyone go from being miserable and hysterically crying to cheery and cleaning and singing Electric Light Orchestra in a matter of moments, but he understands a little more now.

He also understands that right now, Louis feels like home.

Louis feels like sitting out on the back patio with the sun shining with his mum drinking lemonade with the radio turned up on the first day of summer, Louis feels like lying on his back on the football pitch with his friends straight after the grass has been cut and getting told off by his mum for staining his clothes, Louis feels like sleeping in on a Saturday afternoon and waking up to leftover pancakes and bacon and mostly, Louis feels like cuddling into his bed late at night and waking up with a smile on his face.

Louis feels like every little thing Harry could possibly miss about home swirled into one, plus a pretty smile and a nice tan and really strong arms.

Louis feels like everything Harry has ever wanted with out even knowing it.

He doesn’t care that the song isn’t slow and soft; he rests his head on Louis’ shoulder anyway, and for the first time tonight he doesn’t question it; doesn’t look around to see if people are staring, doesn’t listen to see if people are whispering. He just nuzzles his nose into Louis’ neck and lets Louis pull him close, hug him and sing in his ear and rock and bounce them back and forth.

It’s the silliest and sappiest he’s ever felt in his entire life but in the Harry and Louis bubble, he can’t bring himself to care.

Turn To Stone is shortly followed by Strange Magic and Livin’ Thing and this is when Harry decides that this is possibly the worst DJ he’s ever had the inconvenience of listening to. Even he knows you don’t play the same artist three times in a row.

The rest of the night is spent chasing each other around the cafeteria, throwing food at one another and making fun of the set list -- though Harry can’t help but notice that Niall nearly jizzes in his pants when they play an Eagles song -- and as the night draws to a close, Harry finds himself wishing it wouldn’t end just yet, which is kind of ironic considering how badly he didn't want to come to begin with.

Louis just makes it okay.

"It wasn't all bad, was it?" Louis wonders as they walk back to the cabins.

Harry shakes his head. "I really enjoyed shoving cake down your pants."

The boys laugh but Louis chooses to let out a sigh instead, bumping shoulders with Harry as he rolls his eyes. "It was a sweet attempt but you've gotta work on your timing. Until then I'm still the master of pranks."

Liam nudges his back and scoffs. "Yeah right, your pranks almost always fail."

Louis turns around, highly offended. "I'll remember that next time I'm planning one."

"I'm sure I'll hear you coming first," Liam starts. "I don't think discreet is a word in your vocabulary."

Niall mutters a quiet "what does discreet mean?" before Louis' pulling Harry off to the side and motioning for the rest of the boys to join.

Harry's slightly confused as to where Louis is leading them until he realizes they’ve only ended up at the bloody lake again, this seeming to be Louis' default choice of location in any given situation.

"We're gonna get in trouble," Harry says quietly, knowing that they were supposed to retreat straight back to their cabins afterwards.

“Oh, Harry,” Louis mutters exasperatedly, “when will you learn?”

He supposes Louis has a point. He breaks the rules at least twice a day and he hasn’t gotten caught thus far. Harry figures Louis must be sneakier than he realizes or the counselors truly do not give a shit. He’s leaning toward the second option.

Louis takes a seat on the dock and Harry sits next to him, the boys goofing off a few meters behind them. He feels a hand snake around his waist and sit gingerly on his hip and he can’t help but take notice of how rom com of them this must seem, sitting here on the dock looking out over the glistening lake after a slightly difficult night, for Harry anyway, turned...not so difficult.

Harry has never been overly 'in touch with his feelings' as he believes they say; opting to ignore them rather than dissect them, as most boys his age do.

But when he's around Louis, all that changes. Whatever the hell he's feeling is hard to ignore and the part that's so different to him is that he doesn't even want to. The way Louis makes him feel; he loves every second of it. He doesn't know if there's ever been a time he's been so _happy --_ though happy doesn't really begin to describe it -- and he doesn't want to hide away from his feelings, for once. He embraces them, lets himself feel them, lets himself show them. He doesn't care about looking silly anymore; Louis deserves to know how he makes Harry feel. Harry thinks Louis' done more for him than he could ever possibly realize.

He doesn't even mind when it starts downpouring out of nowhere; he makes no move to shuffle away from Louis' grip as Niall's whining and complaining until Liam gives him his coat to put over his head.

He doesn't mind because Louis makes Harry feel like it's always a sunny day. Louis makes Harry feel like the entire world is a sunny day.

"Thanks," he mutters quietly, only so Louis can hear as their feet swing out over the water.

"For what?" Louis wonders, brushing a strand of hair behind Harry's ear.

Harry shrugs, letting his eyes slide closed as he snuggles a little closer. "Making it okay," he mumbles; almost so quiet he isn't sure Louis will hear. He's not even sure if he wants him to -- he doesn't want to explain. He just hopes that Louis understands what he means.

Harry thinks he does, because he tilts his chin up and kisses him, just as cliche as this entire night has been, drops of water pouring down all around them as their lips melt together.

This doesn’t last very long because with out a moment’s notice, the lips that he’s attached to have been removed and he hears a giant splash. He opens his eyes to see Louis floating about pathetically in the water. He turns and sees Zayn standing behind him triumphantly, and he can’t help but laugh and thinks that maybe, everything’s okay now.

 

“I look like a wet dog,” Harry decides sadly as he catches a glimpse of himself in the mirror, flopping onto his bed, wet curls falling onto his face.

Louis just laughs and slides in next to him. “You look lovely,” he decides.

“You can thank Liam, Niall and yourself for that.”

“Hey,” he pulls Harry’s chin to face him, small smile present. “Thank _you_.”

“For what?” Harry wonders, bumping his forehead to Louis’.

“For being my date. Coming with me, dancing with me...I had a good time,” he explains seriously, and Harry can’t help the fondness that’s radiating from him because he loves Louis’ little serious moments. They make his heart melt into a big pile of goo and spill out from every orifice.

“I had a good time too,” Harry smiles, being the one to lean in for a kiss this time, though Louis’ the one who doesn’t pull away. Louis’ the one who deepens it to a solid nine, and Harry’s starting to sweat a little bit.

The kiss is much more heated this time around; more needy, desperate, and Harry can't help but take notice of this as their chests flush up against each other's, Louis hand reaching down for Harry's dick.

In the next few moments he's not really sure what happens or how but he knows that both he and Louis have somehow in the heat of the moment, desperate for more skin to skin contact, stripped down to only their boxers and it takes Harry a moment to realize where this puts them. It really only leads to one thing.

He pulls back a minute and blinks; thinks it over a bit. Tries to decide if he's really ready to do this.

It's August first. Harry has been here exactly six weeks and shit -- it sounds like _such_ a short amount of time but so much has happened and he only has two weeks left. If he doesn't do this now he might not get another chance and he might regret it.

He knows he wants this. He isn't sure he's ever wanted something so much his entire life. He’s sure being a horny teenager has a little something to do with it, but what has even more to do with it is the fact that this is _Louis_ , and people like Louis don’t walk into your life everyday. Louis is _special_. He’s certainly not some random slag from school he’d lose it to at a party if he’d waited until he got home, just like all his friends have.

Louis is like a character from a movie that everyone wishes existed in real life, but the thing is, _Louis is real_. Sometimes Harry has a difficult time believing that, but this has been a hell of a long time to be dreaming and he thinks if Louis was only a figment of his imagination somebody would have expressed concern for his mental health by now. Harry’s pretty certain that this is _actually_ his life.

And shit, he just doesn’t care, because it’s _Louis_. Even if this summer is the last time he even ever sees Louis, he knows he wont regret it because he’s spent the best summer of his life with Louis and this will only make it better. It won’t leave any questions unanswered.

He only pauses momentarily to pull away for a second; stares into Louis’ eyes as he stutters out, “I -- I havent ever...”

Louis smiles, warm and comforting. “Been with a boy, I know. Dont worry we'll go slow.”

Harry just shakes his head a little, trying to explain that that isn’t what he meant. “I haven't been with anyone,” he admits quietly, face flushing slightly as his eyes drop to the mattress below them.

Louis blinks a couple times as his eye brows go up, looking slightly surprised -- though Harry hardly thinks this would come as a surprise to anyone who has known him more than five minutes -- before he laughs a little and tilts Harry’s chin up with his fingers. “Well you know what I always say,” he offers quietly, grinning.

“There’s a first time for everything." Harry laughs and nods, biting his lip. “Yeah, I know.”

“We don’t _have_ to.”

“I want to,” Harry says softly. “I want it to be you.”

Louis smiles. “I’m awfully flattered,” he says, his hand running along Harry’s waist. He leans in and his eyelids droop closed and he kisses Harry again, soft and slow and perfect and everything else Harry imagined this would be like.

For some reason, despite what they've done before, he starts to feel undeniably shy when Louis reaches for the waistband of his briefs. He stills noticeably, and Louis pulls away from the kiss to squint his eyes at Harry.

He doesn't say anything; hasn't a clue what to say, so he just bites his lip and nods and presses his lips back to Louis and lifts his hips, allowing Louis to pull them down his thighs, with only some difficulty considering the not so convenient position of them laying on their sides facing each other.

This is when Louis gently pushes Harry onto his back, positioning himself over the still, tense body below him. He reaches a hand down to wrap around Harry’s dick as their tongues glide against each other hungrily, but slowly, and he begins running his fingers along the shaft, teasingly slow. Harry’s writhing on the bed below him for minutes before he decides it would probably be a good idea to remove Louis’ boxers, too. He does; reaches up slowly and pulls them down around Louis’ thighs, taking his length into his hand and pumping slowly, like Louis is for him.

This is when Louis pulls away, eyes half lidded and breath heavy, and he says, “have you ever fingered yourself?”

Harry blinks. He figures this is probably the least romantic thing that possibly could have been said and somehow the moment seems slightly ruined. “No?” he says quietly, eyebrows knitting together.

Louis’ climbing over him now, rolling out of bed and wandering over to the closet where their bags are stored, and Harry simply cannot help but stare. Louis’ ass is spectacular, there is no denying this. Harry thinks he deserves some sort of lower body of the year award or something because _shit_ \-- but then on second thought, his arms, chest, abs, etc. -- his upper body is killer too. And then there’s also his _face_.

Harry thinks he is pretty damn lucky that he’s about to be fucked by one of the most magnificent looking creatures he’s ever seen in his entire life. It’s almost too good to be true.

He digs around in his bag a moment before finding what it is he’s looking for and turning back toward the bunk beds, and a grin spreads over his face when he spots Harry unabashedly staring, all spread out with his hands tucked behind his head. “Are you done?”

Harry wants to say no. Truthfully, he is not. He could literally stare at Louis’ naked body twenty four hours a day and never get tired of it, however he would be walking around with a constant hard on which he feels may become slightly difficult to explain.

Instead, he just nods, smiling as Louis comes back over and sits on the edge of the mattress. 

“It’s gonna feel a bit weird,” he explains, uncapping the bottle he retrieved from the closet that Harry can now, in plain view, tell is lube. He starts coating his fingers and Harry swallows hard. He really hopes this isn’t as painful as people make it out to be. It would be more than slightly embarrassing to burst out sobbing mid-thrust.

Louis tosses the bottle aside, along with the condom he grabbed, and settles himself at Harry’s legs. He opens his mouth to speak but Harry can’t resist cutting him off. “Why did you bring that? A bit cocky are we?” he asks, unable to hide the giggles begging to spill out of him.

Louis’ face goes a bit red before he tries his very hardest to hold back a smile. “You never know when you’re gonna pull, Harold. It’s always good to come prepared,” he explains seriously, ever the optimist.

Harry laughs. He doesn’t think Louis can be the only one to blame for killing the mood any longer. “Right.”

Louis rolls his eyes before getting back to the matter at hand. “Spread your legs for me.”

Harry lets his body relax a little before -- _oh shit oh shit, this is actually about to happen_ \-- and he does; lets his legs fall open, hopefully giving Louis all the access he needs.

“You’re sure?” Louis checks, letting his hand rest on Harry’s thigh.

Harry breathes deep and lets it out. Yes, he’s sure. “Yes.”

“You know you can tell me if you don’t like it and want me to stop,” Louis offers, and Harry nearly rolls his eyes at this because no, it totally wouldn’t be awkward at all to say ‘okay I’ve had enough, take your fingers out of me, lets go to sleep’. Still, he thinks it’s sweet that Louis’ offering, and he’s glad that it _is_ someone like Louis, who doesn’t put him under any pressure and makes him feel more comfortable than he can imagine anyone else making him feel.

He just smiles and nods, urging Louis to continue, and he does.

He shivers when he first feels Louis’ finger against him, and try as he may, he can’t stop his muscles immediately tightening at the contact. He unclenches his fists and tries his very hardest to relax, letting his eyes slipped closed as Louis pushes his first finger inside.

He winces slightly, but it’s not as much _painful_ as it is just slightly _strange_. Sure, it hurts, but not nearly as badly as he thought it would, and his main concern is how uncomfortable this feels. He really hopes it starts looking up soon because right now, with him tight around Louis’ finger, it feels more than a little unpleasant.

Louis’ moving his finger around a bit while Harry sits uselessly until Louis glances up to meet his eyes. He seems to notice the discomfort, so he brings his other hand up to wrap around Harry’s dick, and at this Harry let’s out a gasp, relieved to feel the now almost familiar pleasure of Louis’ hand stroking him. He distracts Harry with this while he slides in a second finger, to which Harry’s breath only hitches for a moment, and repeats what he did before, stretching him out while running his thumb over the tip of his dick, and then a third.

It feels like ages before Louis seems satisfied and pulls out, fussing about with the condom for a moment before shimmying up so he’s settled between Harry’s thighs.

He can hear himself breathing heavy and rough as Louis stares down at him, one last questioning glance for permission. Harry just let’s his eyes slide closed and reaches a hand out to rest over Louis’, sitting on his thigh.

“Tell me if you want me to --” Louis starts as he lines himself up, but Harry just shakes his head and cuts him off.

“I know.”

He winces has he turns his head to the side, the stretch of Louis’ dick all at once causing him to whimper.

“Hey,” Louis places his hand under Harry’s chin, gently turning his head so they’re fact to face, and somehow, when their eyes lock, it’s like everything melts away and he finally relaxes as Louis pushes into him before dipping in and catching Harry’s lips with his.

The kiss is enough to distract him a while as Louis builds up his pace and stretches him out and it seems like as soon as he reaches down between them to wrap his hand around Harry’s dick, he simultaneously hits something inside him and Harry is completely useless in his attempt at choking back the loudest moan that has ever come out of his mouth, catching him off guard completely.

He feels Louis smile against his mouth as he thrusts, long and slow and Harry’s face is scrunched together, chest tight as he raises his hips to help Louis go deeper inside of him.

Louis is _inside of him_. Whilst he wasn’t exactly picturing this being how his first time panned out, as it unfolds, he wouldn’t have it any other way. He’s never felt so close to anyone before; giving them full permission and trust, and he knows with Louis it would never fall into the wrong hands. It’s like every little doubt he’s ever had is completely melted away. Nothing has ever felt as right as this, and nothing else ever will.

He genuinely has no fucking idea what is coming out of his mouth right now; jumbled words and moans and gasps, all due to the overwhelming pleasure that he literally never could have dreamed was possible as Louis quickens his pace, letting deep grunts fall from his mouth every so often. He feels a little tingly feeling building up in his stomach whenever Louis pulls out and then when he pushes back in it explodes and pulses all through his body and he can’t control it as his toes curl and his fingers dig into Louis’ shoulders.

“Louis,” Harry whines, voice high and desperate, and Louis ducks back in to kiss him again, in rhythm with his hand and his hips, and Harry’s hips involuntarily lift higher and higher off the bed with each thrust.

With the way Louis’ jerking him off he knows this wont last much longer, which is a real shame because he’s enjoying it about sixteen million times more than he thought he would, and that’s saying something considering his expectations were high to start with.

He has to pull away and clench all his muscles to just to hold back, brows furrowed and breath heavy. “ _Louis_ ,” he repeats, and Louis just smiles; reaches up to brush the curls away from Harry’s eyes.

“You feel so good,” he mumbles as he nuzzles his face in Harry’s neck, nipping and biting and at these words Harry’s head almost blows off and bursts into oblivion because Louis is encouraging _him_ and telling him _he_ feels good and this alone is nearly enough to get Harry off.

It’s all very scenic as the rain pours down outside, pounding against the windows, lightning flashing and illuminating their bare skin every couple minutes, Harry’s legs around Louis’ waist, chest to chest and mouth to mouth, close as they possibly can be, as Harry finally let’s out a final strangled moan and comes, and as his muscles tighten around Louis, he isn’t far behind, slowing his hips until he’s finally come down, breathing heavy against Harry’s lips.

They stay like this a minute, evening their breathing before Louis pulls out and ties off the condom, tossing it into the waste basket before throwing an arm across Harry’s chest and pressing a kiss to his cheek. “You’re perfect,” he mumbles, and Harry visibly reddens at this.

He turns and kisses Louis on the mouth. “ _You’re_ perfect,” he says in return, because truthfully, he has been thinking this very thought since the first day he got here. He just never quite had the guts to come out and say it.

Now, though, he doesn’t care anymore. Now, he wants to tell Louis every single thought he’s ever thought about him. Every lovely, embarrassing, silly thought because he knows Louis would smile and kiss his cheek and it would be their little secret, just like this entire summer has been. Harry doesn’t ever want it to end.

Louis smiles, pushing Harry’s hair behind his ears. “On the contrary, my little love machine.”

Harry actually cringes at this and considers pushing Louis off the bed. “Please stop talking.”

Louis scoffs. “All that and you don’t even wanna chat. Next you’ll be saying you don’t wanna cuddle. I may as well just leave now, don’t worry I won’t try to give you my number. I know all you wanted from me was sex.”

Harry rolls his eyes and pulls Louis into his side. “I said stop talking.”

“Bossy one, you are,” he mutters, but despite this, in the next few seconds, he’s curling up with his head nuzzled in Harry’s chest and within moments, they’re both sound asleep.

 

* * *

 


	4. part four

Harry thinks about how he's supposed to feel when he wakes up; how he imagined he would the night before combined with stories he's heard in the past. He fully expects to open his eyes and be floating on clouds, filled with euphoria and so much overbearing love that it's pouring out of him.

Instead his bare skin is pressed up against Louis' in the sticky heat of the August morning and this makes for an incredibly sweaty, tangled up mess.

He wants to pretend that he wants to stay here forever; wants a cliche morning after where they cuddle and kiss and bask in each others' existence.

In reality he doesn't think he's ever wanted to get out of bed faster.

Harry sighs with the thought absently in the back of his head that if he drank coffee, this would be a good time to drink some. He just needs to clear his head, that’s all. So he quietly slides out of bed, obviously unprepared for the dull pain that shoots through his lower body, and pulls on his shorts and a t-shirt; he’s not sure if it’s his or Louis’ but he’s not very bothered. He just needs to step out for some air, anyway. He’s happy to see the sun shining through the windows as opposed to the storm last night.

It’s just that he really can’t find a good, quality thinking spot. There’s too many kids near the mess hall and the pool. He’s still a bit too spooked by his racoon encounter to step foot into the woods again. So he just wanders instead; far back behind the cabins where the lake starts. He walks along the edge for a while.

When he looks long enough, he finds a tree. It’s...well, it’s not exactly what he was looking for, but it’s at least in the shade, and it looks dry underneath. And it looks out over the lake, which is empty of maniac-children-playing-competitive-water-sports at the time and he thinks it could work. He squints to shield his eyes from the sun as he wanders over, the heat making his face warm. It smells like grass, he notices as he watches it, bright green and, at some points still slightly damp from the rain the night before, being scrunched up under his bare feet, poking up between his toes. Upon closer examination of the tree in question, and when he can finally open his eyes wide enough now that the sun isn’t blinding him, he notices little carvings in the bark. Names of people he doesn’t know, initials in little crooked hearts. He rolls his eyes; how fitting.

It’s still kind of nice though. Even if it’s stupid. With the way the sun is shining and making the lake sparkle, maybe he, for some reason, finds some sort of sentiment in it. Or whatever. He just thinks it’s an image that’ll probably stay with him a while.

He slumps down against the tree trunk and pulls his knees to his chest; picks a piece of grass from the ground next to him and begins twiddling it between his fingers as he glances out at the lake. He feels so silly as he wonders when exactly it was that his life turned into one of those cheesy nineties films he recalled his first day here. It’s maybe a bit cliche or whatever. He doesn’t care.

Louis is special.

Louis is special in a way that no one else has ever really been special to him before. And for once, he just doesn’t really mind the fact that he’s a little different from his friends. He doesn’t mind that he’s not exactly who he thought he was, or wanted to be back home. Right now, this summer, the only thing he can even think about is Louis, and as much as that scares him, it’s a feeling that he doesn’t want to leave behind.

It’s strange because he feels like last night cemented something and he still isn’t quite sure what; it doesn’t change the fact that in just a few short weeks, he and Louis will be going back to their old lives, where they were once completely oblivious to each others’ existence.

It’s harder to think about this then he ever imagined it would be.

Instead he decides to think about last night again; he has a feeling that he’ll find himself doing this often. He decides that no matter what happens, he’s glad it was here, and he’s glad it was Louis. Nothing will change that.

He could spend hours thinking about Louis, and he does, as he has at least a few times before, but thinking about Louis is just making him miss Louis, so he decides that instead of sitting under a tree by himself, he’ll go back to their room and cuddle Louis, kiss Louis, hug Louis, etc. and maybe have the morning after he’d hoped for.

He makes his way back to their cabin just as the sun is peeking through and illuminating Louis’ face and he finds himself wondering how he, a simple mortal boy, has managed to seduce a literal golden god. Maybe seduce isn’t the right word. Whatever. He got fucked by Louis and he holds this as one of his greatest achievements.

He slides back into bed, carefully pulling the covers over himself as to not disturb Louis and presses a kiss to the cheek of the boy in question, cuddling up to his back.

Louis groans and rolls over, pulling Harry close with out even bothering to open his eyes. “I’m very fond of you,” he says quietly.

Harry smiles. Fond doesn’t begin to describe how he feels about Louis. “I’m very fond of you, too.”

 

It’s nearly noon before either of them decide to roll out of bed, and only after Niall has pounded on the door for five minutes straight, begging them to come play football, threatening to climb onto the roof and start riverdancing if they aren’t on the pitch in five. Harry is not sure how serious he is about this claim but he wouldn’t necessarily put it past him, and he doesn’t exactly trust this roof to hold up a rapidly moving one hundred and twenty pounds of Niall with out collapsing.

Finally he gets out of bed.

Playing football, however, proves slightly more difficult, and Louis is not the only one who notices.

It's about fifteen minutes into the game before Niall pauses; slows his jog to a halt and bends over to pick up the ball. He glances at Harry. "Why the hell are you running so funny?" he asks after a moment of observation, head tilting to the side in curiosity.

Harry's face reddens and his eyes widen slightly, unsure of how to go about answering such a question. He considers making something up about twisting his ankle because, being as lazy and clumsy as he is, it would be a believable excuse, he thinks. He even mentally pats himself on the back for coming up with such a reasonable cover up on the spot.

But instead Louis beats him to the chase; tosses an arm around his shoulder and squeezes. "Harry here took it like a champ. Didn't you my love?"

Harry stares at Louis with a look that he's very sure must say 'have you gone fucking mad' and he can feel the other boys' eyes wide on them before Niall bursts out laughing and the rest follow suit.

"That didn't take long," Liam mumbles, and Harry doesn't think his face has ever been quite so red before.

"What can I say, clearly I'm irresistible," Louis shrugs casually, holding his hands out for Niall to pass him the ball.

Harry tries his very hardest to will the blush away from his cheeks but each time he makes eye contact with someone, it's quick to make it's return, and when he feels everyone's eyes on him as he comically struggles to run like a human being as opposed to a newborn giraffe, he decides he's just had too much for one afternoon and decides to sit on the sideline.

He wonders if he can use equal bluntness to tell his own friends back home. He highly doubts they would take it as well.

The thing is, Harry likes his friends. Obviously. If he didn’t like them he wouldn’t have been so adamant about not coming here in the first place, because if he didn’t have anything worth staying home for he probably wouldn’t care.

It’s just that he’s been around the same kids since he was a child; he’s never really known anything else, and the more time he spends away from them, making new friends who he finds himself enjoying more and more everyday, he starts to realize that perhaps the only reason he’s really even friends with the boys back home is because they’re the only ones he has.

That isn’t to say he won’t be happy to see them again; of course he will. They are his best mates afterall, but when he considers how they may possibly react if they were to find out about Louis, he begins to wonder how close his loyalties lie. He knows they won’t react the same way as the boys here, where he can be carefree and loosen up and not have to worry about what he says, because he’s found that the boys here are equally as laid back and more open minded than anyone his age back home. Back home everyone has reputations to uphold; images to fulfill. He supposes here it doesn’t really matter.

Maybe that’s one of the reasons he’s so scared to go home. He feels like here, he’s finally started to come into himself; finally let himself see him for just that -- himself. He’s finally realizing who he is and he’s okay with that. Here.

He’s not sure if he’ll be okay with that at home, mainly because he’s not sure if everyone else will be okay with it at home, and the thought of having to go back to pretending to be someone he never wanted to be in the first place with out even realizing it is terrifying to him, especially now that he knows how nice it feels to just be _him_ , and not have anyone else’s expectations to live up to.

He doesn’t even want to think about going home yet -- he tries his hardest to just focus on the game, but it’s hard not to think about it when it’s a mere two weeks away. He’ll have to face it eventually.

He forgets about it long enough for everyone to decide they’re bored and decide to go to the cafeteria, and he even forgets about it around the fire that night, soaking it all up instead of thinking about it’s demise.

He forgets about it all night, until he’s getting ready for bed.

He’s brushing his teeth when it happens.

For the first time in a long time Harry takes a good hard look at himself in the mirror, and he's surprised to find that he hardly recognizes himself anymore.

It's a little frightening, how in the midst of all this he'd just barely given a thought to how _different_ all of this is; how quickly he'd adjusted, only dwelled on it a few days when he wasn't sure what the fuck he wanted from Louis.

Now he can't imagine not wanting Louis. He can't imagine not loving the feeling of waking up tangled in his arms, can't imagine not smiling into every kiss.

Harry tries to think of going home; going back to his old friends, a whole new person, more mature and experienced and self assured, and he wonders if they'll notice. He wonders if they'll care that in the process of becoming comfortable with who he is, he's completely changed into a different person. Sixteen year old boys tend not to dig that deep in his experience, and he's unsettled with the thought that maybe they won't like him anymore; won't like the fact that he's got it all figured out, or at least thinks he has, won't like the fact that he doesn't laugh at their stupid jokes anymore, when in reality the only reason he laughed at them in the first place was because he felt like he had to. Won't like the fact that he's finally gone and lost his virginity, only that it was to another lad.

Harry wonders how he'll even face home again; how in the world anyone could accept him back home as a completely different person -- wonders if his mum will wonder what the fuck has happened to her son.

Suddenly he begins to feel a bit selfish. Sure, he's having the time of his life, but to let someone he's known all but a couple months completely flip his life around when there are people at home who have been molding his life since he was a small child seems more than enough to make him feel like a bit selfish.

Underneath it all, he knows he’s mostly just scared.

When he gets back to the cabin Louis is waiting for him on the bottom bunk, humming to himself until he hears the door open. Harry's only standing there a minute before he closes it and shuffles down onto the bed, blinking into Louis' eyes. "Your face is sunburned," is all he manages before he bursts into tears, flowing down his face in streams; the kind of crying that you don't feel coming on and you have no power over stopping. Louis doesn't force him to explain, which is fortunate for Harry who would probably be embarrassed if he had time to actually realize that this is the first time he’s cried in front of Louis and he doesn’t even know why he is; just pulls him in close and tucks his hand under the back of Harry's t-shirt, running his finger nails over the warm skin there, placing little kisses in his curls. Tears are still clumping at his eyelashes as he falls asleep.

 

* * *

 

The next morning, Harry wakes up with his head a little bit clearer, and that probably has something to do with the human limbs draped across him like fine linen. Louis always seems to put him at ease.

He can feel dried tear trails on his face and he absently hopes that Louis doesn’t think he’s insane. Speaking of Louis.

“Good morning.”

Harry blinks, then turns over to face Louis head on. “Good morning,” he says back quietly, morning voice raspy and soft.

There’s a moment of silence and then Louis blinks. “Were you crying because I was shit in bed?”

Harry laughs and shakes his head. “No.”

“Good. I didn’t think I was _that_ bad.”

Harry smiles. “You weren’t bad at all,” he says quietly.

Louis reaches out to brush a strand of hair behind Harry’s ear. “What was it then? Or don’t you wanna talk about it?”

Harry shrugs and repositions himself, flopping onto his back and folding his hands over his stomach. “I just don’t wanna go home,” he whispers, the reality of it becoming more and more tangible now that he’s actually said it out loud.

“You don’t have to go home yet,” Louis offers, snuggling a little closer and tossing his arm across Harry, nose against his shoulder. “In fact I think we still have a few minutes before the alarm. We can just lie here and cuddle.”

Harry rolls his eyes. “You know what I mean.”

“Yeah,” Louis says glumly. “I do.”

For once, it doesn’t really seem like there’s anything Louis can say to make the situation any better, and perhaps that’s what Harry finds the scariest of all.

“We can still talk everyday,” Louis suggests, and Harry perks up at this slightly, turning his head to face Louis.

“Yeah?”

Louis nods. “Of course. If you want, that is. I meant what I said -- you can forget all about this if you want. If that’s easier for you. I’ll understand.”

Harry considers this a moment. “I don’t think I could ever forget you,” he says, voice small as a smile stretches across his lips.

“Good point,” Louis offers, nodding slightly as he thinks it over. “But I mean it though. If that’s what you need to do -- by all means.”

Harry shakes his head. He doesn’t think he could cut ties with Louis at this point of he tried. He clears his throat. “I think I needed this. All of it,” he decides, and Louis smiles.

“I know you did.”

“Thank you.”

Louis shakes his head. “You don’t have to thank me,” he says, placing his hand gingerly on the side of Harry’s face, looking down into his eyes. “ _You_ are a very special boy. I just wish you’d let everyone see with out me having to drag it out of you,” he adds, somewhat sadly, to which Harry just swallows.

“I think,” he starts, reaching over to mess about with the hem of Louis’ t-shirt, “that I didn’t realize what was in me until you showed me,” he says quietly, swallowing again as he feels his throat begin to tighten for the second time in the past twelve hours. “So I do have to thank you, because if it weren’t for you I think I’d feel very lost,” he admits, and he thinks this is probably about the most he’s ever opened up to anybody, but he thinks it’s something that Louis deserves to hear.

Louis’ smiling softly as he tilts Harry’s chin up and leans down for a kiss, slow and delicate, before pulling away and saying, “I don’t ever want you to feel lost.”

Harry thinks that when he’s with Louis, he never could. “You’ll text me everyday?” he asks quietly, letting Louis take his hand and tangle their fingers together against his chest.

“I promise,” Louis says.

“And call me?”

“Of course,” he grins. “Don’t know how long I could go with out hearing that silly laugh of yours.”

Harry smiles. “Thank you,” he repeats for about the sixteenth time this morning, because he feels like no matter how many times he says it, he could never thank Louis enough.

Louis opens his mouth to reply, but before he’s given the chance, the trumpet is going off and they’re both groaning their disapproval.

“We’re allergic to the outdoors?” Harry suggests as a reasonable excuse, to which Louis just sighs.

“If only,” he says, climbing over Harry to get out of bed. “Come on, better get up,” he tugs on Harry by the hand. “Nature observations round two today.”

Harry whines into his pillow. “I’d rather gouge my eyes out.”

“Oh, don’t do that, your eyes are too pretty,” Louis smiles cheesily as he wanders away and digs through his clothes to find something semi-clean.

Harry raises his eyebrows as he finally sits up, leaning back on his hands as he groggily glances around the room. “Why don’t you just charm the pants right off of me?” he yawns, running a hand through his messy hair.

“Because I’ve got quicker ways to get your pants off, you’ll see tonight,” he offers, wiggling his eyebrows as he steps into his own trousers, and Harry snorts.

“You’re something else,” he sighs as he finally finds it deep inside himself to roll out of bed, dragging himself over to the closet.

“I’ve heard that once or twice,” Louis shrugs.

Harry thinks Louis has probably heard this much more than once or twice.

 

Harry had a good idea that nature observations would be making another appearance at some point before this was all over, however that does not mean that he's been looking forward to it.

Since they've already covered the woods, today they'll be observing the aquatic habitat, which really just means Harry will have to spend more time around this bloody lake than he'd ever hoped to. It's like it's haunting him.

Today's lesson consists of much more sitting and listening to the instructors carry on about algae and the lakes inhabitants since there isn't exactly a way to dive to the very bottom of the muddy thing and teach from down there, and considering it's hardly even light out yet, Harry is about two seconds from falling asleep on Niall's shoulder. He isn't mildly interested until they start discussing the little frogs Harry's seen hopping around since he got here. He's quite fond of them.

"I love those little guys," he yawns to Louis.

"You’ve gotta be kidding," Louis scrunches his face up in disgust. "They're slimy and rank."

"They're not slimy," he defends, dismissing Louis as his eyes start to slide closed. "They're cute. I want one."

He's pretty sure he falls asleep at some point after this because he doesn't remember much else.

In fact, he somehow manages to sleep through the entire lesson against Niall's side, thanks to Liam who's tossed a coat over him, making it impossible for the instructors to tell that his eyes are closed, and when he wakes up it's only because he's being violently shaken and threatened with, "I'll toss you in there if you don't get up."

Zayn.

Harry blinks. "Is it over?"

"Finally," Niall grumbles, pushing himself off the ground letting Harry fall onto his side with an 'oof'.

"Where's Louis?" he wonders, taking in his surroundings and finding that among the groups of kids scattering, Louis is nowhere in site.

"He ran off a while ago. Get off the ground," Liam extends a hand, and Harry grips it, allowing Liam to pull him to his feet.

Harry considers uttering some sort of question about how the bloody hell Louis can somehow literally get away with anything but ultimately decides against it, keeping in mind that if there's one thing Louis has taught him this summer, it is to never question the master.

Instead, he heads to the cafeteria with the boys and starts on what feels like the six hundredth peanut butter and jelly sandwich of the summer. He’s fairly certain he’s consumed more peanut butter and jelly sandwiches in the past two months than he has in his entire life.

He absently slumps down and picks at the crust as the boys discuss their plans for when they get home.

“I can’t wait to have a pint and watch the football, all I want,” Niall complains longingly.

“What about you, Harry?” Liam wonders, and Harry really wishes he hadn’t. He’s spent enough time in the past couple days torturing himself thinking about what’s going to happen when he gets home, and he’d only just forgotten about it.

Harry just shrugs.

As it turns out, Harry and Liam live closer together than they expected, and as they make plans to meet up again, and they all agree to exchange numbers and add each other on Facebook, the thought is soon forgotten. He figures he may as well enjoy his last two weeks here, so when he and the rest of the boys, minus Louis who they still haven't caught up with since nature observations, mess about on the footie pitch for a while, that’s what he tries to do.

Embrace it.

 

When Harry finally steps into the cabin, he’s greeted by Louis flinging himself off the bed and saying, “ _finally_."

“Nice to see you too?” Harry utters as he closes the door, scrunching his eyebrows together as Louis pulls him across the room by the arm.

“You’ve been bloody gone all afternoon, I thought you’d been fed to the wolves,” he explains dramatically.

“Wolves?”

“Never mind,” Louis waves his hand around dismissively. “I got you a present,” he explains, and Harry is left scratching his head as he stares at the plain brown cardboard box that’s sat on the desk which Louis has probably nicked from the dumpster behind the cafeteria.

“Is it chocolate pudding?” he wonders, and Louis shakes his head.

“No, it isn’t chocolate pudding.”

“I’m stumped,” Harry shrugs, truly having no idea what to even begin to guess what Louis could have possibly obtained in the small amount of ground they have access to.

“Well go on, open it,” Louis nods toward it, and this is when Harry takes a step closer.

Upon further examination, he sees that there’s holes poked in the top and then -- oh. He opens it up and inside, there is a frog. He swiftly turns to Louis, eyes wide. “Louis!”

Louis cocks his head to the side. “I’m having trouble deciphering your reaction.”

“You stole a frog!” Harry says in disbelief.

“I didn’t steal him! I adopted him,” Louis explains, walking over and reaching into the box to give the frog in question’s head a pat. “For you. You said you wanted one.”

“I didn’t mean literally take one from the wild and domesticate it in our cabin!”

Louis pouts, shoulders dropping as he glumly stares down at the box. “I thought you’d be happy.”

Harry must admit to feeling a bit guilty. Afterall, it was a terribly kind gesture, and he thinks that it’s exceedingly adorable that Louis went through the trouble for him. He’s also very fond of the idea of adopting a frog with Louis; the only part that concerns him is that surely a frog cannot survive merely living in a cardboard box. “I am happy,” Harry smiles, pulling Louis into a hug. “Thank you. I love him.”

“You don’t seem like you love him,” Louis grumbles childishly, kicking absently at the floor.

“Of course I do -- It’s just. How do you take care of a frog?” he wonders, knowing Louis enough by now to know that he hasn’t considered such things before trekking out into the woods to capture one. Harry can only imagine how he even managed that.

Louis just shrugs. “It can’t be that hard.”

Harry thinks that if either of them had paid any attention in nature observations it probably wouldn't be very hard, but alas he was sleeping and Louis was out catching him a frog.

His knight in shining armor.

"We'll figure it out," Louis assures as he notices how uncertain Harry looks. "No worries love, I think you're forgetting who you're dealing with here," he says proudly.

He has a point.

Harry nods. "Yeah okay," he smiles, reaching his hand in to pet his new little amphibian friend. "Hey pal," he offers, but the frog hops away, clearly distraught and Harry frowns. They will have to work on that.

"What should we name him?" Louis wonders, staring quizzically at the little green lump cowering in the corner of the box.

Harry shrugs. Naming pets has never been his forte. "Froggy?" he suggests, to which Louis sends him a glare.

“Froggy? What the hell kind of name is that?” he wonders. Harry shrugs. “You were one of those kids who named their dog Spot, weren’t you.”

“I never had a dog,” Harry explains, and Louis seems to be met with relief. “But my cat was called Fluffy.”

Louis just shakes his head, clearly disappointed. "I suppose I shouldn't have expected any less," he sighs. "Froggy it is."

Harry smiles. Froggy ribbits. He takes this as a good sign.

And so begins the start of a beautiful relationship.

 

* * *

 

Louis can be a bit extreme sometimes. Harry has learned that about him over the past couple months; it’s something he’s grown used to and sometimes even grown to love. Sometimes.

However, sometimes, like now, when he wakes up blind folded with his hands tied behind his back, he’s slightly more terrified than he is endeared. “Where are you taking me?!”

“You’ll see, relax,” he hears Louis’ voice, but to be honest he hasn’t the slightest idea of where they are because he was pulled from his bed half asleep and he doesn’t really remember anything else.

He thinks that whatever Louis is doing, it probably could be done with out holding Harry hostage. However, sometimes, Louis can be a bit extreme.

He cooperates as Louis pulls him around by the arm, only tripping a few times before eventually, he feels his hands unbound and there’s light pouring into his eyes.

“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me,” he mutters.

“Do it."

"I don't want to."

"Harry you have to face your fears sooner or later."

"I don't, actually."

"Well you should."

"I almost died."

"It was seaweed!"

The lake.

The sole body of water which has single-handedly aided in corrupting Harry's life in a short less-than-two-months.

He knows he'll never willingly swim in a lake again.

However if this lake is any metaphor for his time here maybe Louis is right. He’s conquered all of his other fears, afterall. He supposes it would only be fitting.

He groans as Niall catapults himself off the rope swing and into the lake below him, landing with a loud splash. He really does not want to do this. In fact he thinks he could probably go his entire life with out jumping off a ledge into a lake with out looking back. He doubts it will change much in the longrun.

“I promise if any seaweed bothers you, you come and tell me and I’ll make sure it regrets the day it was born,” Louis offers, to which Harry only groans again. He’s only about three steps away from curling up into the fetal position and going back to sleep.

“Thanks, I feel so safe now,” Harry mutters, but truthfully, safety is not his main concern. It was seaweed. And now that he knows this, it’s very obvious to him that he completely over reacted, and he thinks even that is an understatement. It’s just that being in the lake brings back the ever so embarrassing feelings of fear and regret -- _so much regret_ \-- that he felt on that horrid day, and he really would just rather not put himself through that again if he’s honest.

“Come on, just do it.”

“You can’t make me.”

"What if we went together?" Louis wonders optimistically, and while this does make the task at hand does seem slightly less daunting, Harry thinks that this sounds slightly silly, too.

"That's stupid," he mumbles sadly.

"Not as stupid as your fear over a piece of bloody seaweed," Louis points out, and Harry supposes that he has a point. The entire situation is pretty stupid when he thinks about it, so he supposes it really couldn't do much harm.

"All right, then," he nods, and Louis smiles, grabbing the rope and pulling it back. Harry takes a few steps back and Louis follows, dragging it behind them.

"Make sure you hold on tight," Louis tells him. He nods. "And don't let go."

"I won't," he promises, gripping the rope once they're both in position.

"Ready?" Louis questions, glancing at Harry with raised eyebrow, knuckles white around the rope.

Harry just swallows, looking out over the lake ahead. It's now or never. He nods.

"On my count..." Louis says, and then starts the suspenseful countdown of, "one.....two........THREE!"

And they run toward the edge until their feet are floating on nothing, and their legs tangle together as they glide through the air, and as soon as the rope has gone it's length, they simultaneously let go and Harry reaches for Louis’ arm before they fall into the water with a splash.

In an instant, he's submerged, sound drowning out to a dull buzz as he plunges under, lukewarm water engulfing his body. It's very serene and even so much so that he brings himself to open his eyes underneath and sees Louis smiling at him, bubbles blowing from his nose before they float to the surface.

Everything floods his senses as his head resurfaces, the noise and sun and summer heat becoming more apparent.

"That wasn't so bad, was it?" Louis grins, splashing water toward him.

Harry shakes his hair out and reciprocates. "No I suppose it wasn't."

"Knew you had it in you. You can do anything you want Harry! You just have to let yourself!" he's saying as he swims away to torment Liam, and for once Harry finds some sense in what Louis has said.

Part of him just feels insanely free which is absolutely ridiculous because it’s just a fucking lake but now, it’s like he hasn’t held back at all this summer; has taken every opportunity thrown at him, for better or for worse, lived it to the fullest, experienced it all with a new view on life and part of him, now, for this reason, feels a little bit better about leaving.

Like somehow, weirdly, this helps close the chapter, and he’s not quite so scared anymore.

Hell, if he could jump off the rope swing into this bloody lake, he can do anything.

However this doesn’t mean he’s exactly keen to stick around, so he only swims about a bit before heading off for a shower, Louis in tow. Harry’s first instinct is to check on Froggy, who he spent a reasonable amount of time bonding with the night before, but when he sees how unenthusiastic and lethargic he seems, an idea strikes him. “Louis, he must be hungry. He’s not eaten in for an entire day.”

Louis tosses himself onto Harry’s bed. “What the hell do you want me to do about it?”

Harry scoops Froggy into his hands and turns toward Louis, highly offended. “You brought this frog into our lives, you have to provide for him!”

“Alright, alright,” he sighs, rolling off the bed. “I’ll see what I can do.”

 

First Louis tries feeding it pizza, but it simply turns its nose up and hops around. “I know it’s not Dominoes or anything but how high could his standards be?!”

Harry suggests that maybe he prefers healthy food, so the next day Louis tries salad.

It still looks uninterested.

“What a snotty little shit,” Louis mumbles, pulling the plate out of the box. “You’re a frog!” he yells at it. “You eat what I give you!”

“Don’t be mad at him,” Harry says defensively, walking up and placing a hand on Louis’ shoulder. He reaches into the box with his free hand and pats it’s head. “It’s alright, Froggy, it’s not your fault. You’re not used to people food.”

“Well what _is_ he used to?” Louis turns to face Harry, defeated.

Harry shrugs. He doesn’t know all that much about tree frogs but he _is_ fairly certain that ceaser salad and pizza do not grow on trees in the wild. “Bugs, I guess,” he suggests.

Louis bites his lip a moment in thought before an idea strikes and his whole face lights up. Before Harry even has a chance to ask what the hell he’s doing, Louis’ grabbing an empty duffle bag from the closet and he’s off, to who the hell knows where, and so Harry sits with Froggy, and he waits.

 

It’s the fourth day in a row that Louis’ broken into the supply cabin to steal the worms they keep as bait in the tackle boxes and Froggy is a much happier frog.

“They grow up so fast,” Louis sighs as he and Harry stare into Froggy’s newly pimped out box strewn with small branches and leaves, hopping around and eating the chunks of worms that Harry’s spread around, which he has made Louis tear apart with his bare hands, partially so that Froggy doesn’t choke, but also partially because Harry finds a sinister amount of enjoyment in the disgust on Louis’ face as he does it.

“Make sure you send pictures from his first day of school mummy,” Niall ruffles up Harry’s hair.

Harry turns to face him, highly offended. “Why am I the mum?”

Louis roars with laughter behind him, loud and obnoxious, always true to his character. “Please. As if _I’d_ be the mum. You’re so the mum.”

Harry rolls his eyes. He would try to dispute this claim if he didn’t secretly agree with it. He is a proud frog mummy.

“I can’t _actually_ believe you’re harboring a wild animal in your room,” Liam mumbles in disbelief from his spot lazing about on Harry’s bed.

“He’s not a wild animal,” Harry replies defensively. “He’s our child.”

Zayn and Liam at least try to mask their laughter. Louis and Niall do not.

“You two are pathetic,” Zayn shakes his head. Harry isn’t sure he’s referring to the frog situation or the _HarryandLouis_ situation, because they’ve kind of just morphed into one lately; everyone knows they come as a package deal now. Where there’s a Louis you will almost certainly find a Harry and the other way around. The boys seem to love poking fun but deep down Harry kind of loves it, because deep down he knows they’re happy for them. At home, the boys wouldn’t be poking fun because they were happy for them. The boys at home would actually _make fun of him_. Harry absently wonders how he’s going to cope with out these boys when he gets home. It’s not even just Louis anymore; it’s all of them. He doesn’t want to leave _any_ of them, but with each day that passes, the closer to that reality he becomes, and that terrifies him.

 

* * *

 

"I've hit the jackpot my love, we are going to have a very good night," Louis declares one afternoon as he digs through the closet for an empty bag. Harry ponders what exactly it is he could be referring to momentarily before realizing that the chances of him guessing what Louis could possibly be up to now is probably comparable to finding a needle in a haystack. He has truly given up trying to work out how Louis’ mind works.

"Louis, what are you doing?" he questions as an empty duffle bag is shoved into his arms.

"Just come on, keep quiet,” is all he says, pulling Harry along by the arm.

He sighs, ever the reluctant, but follows Louis' orders nevertheless. He has learned better than to try reasoning.

It doesn't take him long to realize that Louis is leading him to the supply room, nor does it take him long to find out why.

As Louis pops the door open, quietly closing it behind them, Harry is greeted with the site of a few chairs circled around some overturned utility buckets, and atop them sits a copious amount of bottles of alcohol.

Before Harry has a chance to wonder where the hell it's come from or who it belongs with, Louis proclaims, "looks like the counselors left us a little present."

Harry scratches his head as Louis begins to gather up the bottles and shove them into his bag, and within a moment he's following suit. He feels like some sort of criminal. If he were ever to develop a record he's willing to bet Louis would somehow be involved.

"I can't wait to go tell the lads. This is gonna be the best night yet," Louis is saying as he zips up his bag, bouncing around in excitement.

Harry clears his throat. "Are we gonna. Um. Drink it?"

Louis stares. "No were gonna donate it to charity. What the hell do you think were gonna do with it?"

Harry just shrugs. He's never been to a party before; the most he's ever drank was two glasses of champagne at his mums wedding and that alone had him feeling a little tipsy. Not that he's overly opposed to the idea; he figures if Louis is there it's bound to be a laugh. It's just that he never has before and there's a billion thoughts running through his head; what if he gets too drunk and makes an idiot of himself or what if he pukes everywhere or what if he passes out or gets them caught or -- he takes a breath. "Cool."

Louis narrows his eyes for a moment before rolling them. "You've never drank before," he says, and his tone suggests that it is much more of a realization than a question.

Harry just shakes his head, shoving the last of the bottles into his bag. "Not really."

"Well," Louis sighs as he tosses his bag over his shoulder. "There's a first time for everything."

That famous Louis smile and a pat to the shoulder and he's on his way, Harry closely following behind him. They have to sneak through the woods to get back to their cabin with out anyone finding them and wondering why on earth they're walking through the campgrounds with very strangely shaped bags in the middle of the day, but they make it eventually and thus begins the excruciatingly long countdown to curfew.

For some reason when it finally does roll around, Louis insists on trying to squeeze through the window despite the fact they have less of a chance getting caught using the door, which Harry opts for, and when he questions Louis' motives, the boy in question simply explains that it's ‘stealthier this way’, and Harry manages to get out the door just in time to watch Louis struggle for a moment, upper body protruding from the window before falling flat onto his face.

"How does that dirt taste?" Harry chuckles quietly, to which Louis just rolls his eyes, picks himself up and brushes himself off before muttering, "shut it, you get us caught and your ass will be had. Not in the good way."

Harry stifles a laugh as Louis slings his bag over his shoulder and grabs onto his arm, leading him towards the woods.

"I told Niall we'd meet at the moss tree twenty two o' clock," Louis explains as he begins dragging Harry through mazes of trees, to which Harry stares dumbfounded.

"What the hell does that mean?"

"The clearing, now," he puts it simply, which leads Harry to wonder why he hadn't just said that the first time but Louis does seem to love over complicating things.

It takes them a few moments of wandering in the dark but eventually they find their way to the clearing, where the other boys are already waiting.

"Right then boys," Louis begins, gently tossing the bag to the ground. He crouches down and unzips, pulling out the first bottle; marshmallow vodka, and hands it to Niall. "Let the commencements commence."

Harry cocks his head to the side as Niall unscrews the bottle and takes a swig, screwing up his face a little as he swallows, handing it off as Louis begins passing around beers.

Everyone seems to be getting on just fine except for Harry because he has no idea what it is that he's supposed to do. In theory it seems simple enough, but he’s sure if he just reaches for something he’s bound to make a fool of himself somehow.

"Do you want me to open it for you?" Louis asks sarcastically, referencing the can of beer in Harry's hand that he's not yet begun to tap.

Harry just shakes his head, chuckling nervously. He knows he hates the taste of beer, and he's not going to suffer through the embarrassment of choking down an entire can of it whilst everyone else chugs effortlessly. "Can I have some of that?" he asks, nodding toward the bottle of vodka in Zayn's hand.

Louis glances back toward the bottle before he shrugs and takes it from Zayn, handing it over with no instruction. Harry blinks at the bottle before letting out a final sigh and brings it to his lips.

This is it. Here goes nothing. He might make a fool of himself but at least -- well. He’s not really sure. He doesn’t even know why he’s doing this. He’s never held much interest in alcohol if he’s entirely honest, otherwise this probably would not be the first time he’s had a sip of it with out parental supervision. But Louis seems to think good times will be had so god dammit Harry is going to have a good time.

And? It's not as bad as he expected. It's definitely not as bad as beer. And it reminds Harry of roasting marshmallows with Louis at the campfires so he likes it. In fact, he likes it a lot. What he doesn't like is the aftertaste. It feels as though he's just swallowed an entire bottle of cold medicine and his throat burns in such a way that he finds difficulty keeping from choking, however there is no aftertaste to worry about if he just keeps drinking, so that is what he does.

Harry is an idiot.

"Hey hey hey," Niall pulls the bottle down after a moment, "just because we haven't got glasses to pour shots doesn't mean you down half a bottle in one go."

"Little Harry's gonna make himself sick," Louis scrunches up his nose, ruffling up Harry's hair. Harry's face turns red in reciprocation. "Why don't we try something else," he decides, crouching down to dig through the bag.

Harry, on the other hand. "I don't want anymore," he mumbles, placing the bottle down as he wills the taste away from his mouth. He’s definitely _not_ drunk. He _does_ feel a bit sick. This is when he learns his first mistake; his negligence to pace himself.

"Sure you do, just slow down a bit, you need a chaser. Here,” Louis offers, holding a bottle out to him.

Cranberry juice.

"Cranberry and marshmallow?" Harry questions inquisitively, reluctantly taking the bottle from Louis' hand.

“Desperate times, my dear,” Louis sighs sadly, patting Harry’s shoulders before cracking open his second beer and turning back to Zayn to talk about who knows what -- Spiderman, by the sounds of it. Harry is left to his own devices, which is probably the second mistake of the night, because once he realizes how easy the vodka is to down with something to chase it, he -- well. Doesn’t stop downing it.

Louis, unaware that Harry has nearly finished the third of the bottle of Smirnoff that the counselors left, does not turn back to Harry until he hears it clink on the ground. “This isn’t working,” Harry shakes his head, still unsure as to why he isn’t feeling an effect. “I need something else,” he decides, pushing himself off his self proclaimed log seat to meander over to the untapped mines.

It’s when he stands up that he _feels_ it, so much so that he nearly falls over.

Louis’ quick to reach a hand out to steady him, shaking his head. “I really don’t think you do.”

Harry lets his eyes droop closed as he feels tingles rush through his body, getting used to the feeling before leaning into Louis and whispering in his ear, “I feel a bit dizzy.”

Louis rolls his eyes. “No wonder. Come here you,” he pulls Harry back over to his seat, gently pushing him back into position and crouches down in front of him. “I don’t want you puking all over your clothes or pissing yourself, take it easy. And if you do need to be sick or have a wee, please go do it in the bushes,” he explains.

“I will, promise,” Harry nods slowly. “But I want more. I feel good,” he smiles cheekily, leaning closer to Louis as his inhibitions go into hiding and he musters up an amount of courage that he never thought he had, pressing a long, hard kiss to Louis’ mouth, in front of the boys just like it’s nothing. It’s not as though they’ve never been affectionate in front of them before, but it’s always something Harry’s given a second thought to; hesitated with. This time he hasn’t. If this is what alcohol does Harry thinks that he really likes alcohol.

Louis smiles too, chuckling as he pulls away. He decides that Harry is a very easy drunk, and he likes it. “All right,” he nods. “But only if you promise to behave. And slow down, otherwise you’ll be out cold and you wont remember any of it.”

Harry nods eagerly as Liam laughs and digs through one of the bags. “You seem like the type for girly drinks,” he offers, holding out a wine cooler.

Harry thinks he should be offended but he doesn’t really care; just takes the bottle and uncaps it and takes a sip. It tastes like soda. Giving Harry an alcoholic beverage which has nearly no alcoholic aftertaste at all is yet again a mistake in the string of mistakes of the night, because, Harry quickly discovers, this is even easier to drink than vodka, and this is what he decides to opt for the rest of the night.

 

“I haven’t told you about my cat have I?”

Louis is happy to see Harry unwind. He’s happy that Harry’s having a good time; he’s proud that this was his idea. He just hopes Harry isn’t going slightly overboard, and if he wasn’t so tipsy himself, he probably would have stopped Harry from opening that third bottle, but fuck it, they’re young, and if Harry wakes up tomorrow with a pounding head ache and pukes his guts up for three hours straight, Louis will be there the whole time rubbing his back, because any hangover Harry could face tomorrow is worth the smile on his face tonight, to Louis. He thinks that if there’s ever a good time and place to get smashed for the first time, this summer night in the woods at camp is an awfully good one.

Besides, he’s not nearly half as worried about how Harry’s morning will go tomorrow as he is Niall’s. He can’t even stand on his feet at this point, but he supposes Niall is more than used to it and he probably deserves it anyway, considering how cocky he is about holding his alcohol. ‘I’m Irish!’.

Being Irish doesn’t seem to be doing Niall any favors, because he’s still nearly passed out before the rest of them.

“His name was Fluffy? Maybe it was a girl. I don’t remember,” Harry shrugs jovially, as if he’s just told the punch line to the greatest joke ever spoken in the English language.

It’s impossible to tell if Liam is laughing because drunk Harry is entirely too amusing for any of their own good, or if it’s because he’s actually just as drunk, and this _is_ nearly equivalent to the greatest joke that’s ever been spoken in the English language. Probably a mixture of the two.

“I’d always tell her, cats can’t eat spinach! But she didn’t care,” he shakes his head in fond remembrance. “Maybe I should have called her Pop-Eye. Listen,” he points his finger at Liam, poking him in the chest. “I need a wee. But we’ll finish talking about this later,” he promises.

This is promptly when he turns to walk a few meters and bumps into Louis, who’s crushing yet another beer can and tossing it toward the center of their festivities. It bounces off Zayn’s leg and hits Niall in the face, but it’s hard to tell if he notices because all he does is grumble and takes another sip.

“I was wondering where you ran off to,” Harry slurs a little, laughing as Louis snakes an arm around his waste.

Louis grins, tipsy, but not nearly as drunk as Harry. “I’ve been right here,” he whispers, leaning in close, “watching you.”

Harry just feels so sleepy all of the sudden. Tired. He wants to lay down and go to sleep. He makes it to his knees and decides to give Louis a blow job instead.

His sense of reason is crumbling like a very old, stale loaf of bread but if it’s any credit to his self control, he’s been wanting to pounce on Louis all night, and quite frankly he thinks it’s a miracle that he’s made it this far.

He reaches out and unbuttons Louis' jeans, completely ignoring the other three a few meters behind them, though scrambled by a few trees between them, still in the line of vision if one were to squint.

Louis just utters a "woah" and a chuckle before anchoring his hands in Harry's curls, and if the boys notice a few meters away they don't say anything, or at least Harry doesn't notice as he shimmies Louis' pants and boxers down his thighs.

He goes right in for it this time, wrapping his hand around Louis’ dick before blinking a few times and staring. “You’re beautiful,” he says to it.

Louis scrunches his eyebrows together a moment before shrugging and tangling a hand in Harry’s hair, urging him along. The sweet talk is nice and all, but his dick doesn’t really need to be charmed at the moment. It needs Harry’s wonderful, red mouth around it; Louis is positive he’s never needed anything more.

Harry takes the tip into his mouth, letting his eyes slide closed as he works his tongue around it for a moment before Louis becomes impatient and whines for Harry to take him further, and Jesus Christ does Harry take him further. So far that he almost chokes, but he doesn’t care; not one bit, because Louis’ dick tastes like a popsicle. Maybe that’s the wine coolers. No -- Louis’ dick tastes like a popsicle, Harry decides, and the sounds falling from Louis’ lips are equally enticing, and this is when Harry decides that he never wants to stop. Sucking Louis’ dick is the best thing in the entire world. He wishes he could get paid for this. He could, possibly, but he thinks that’s illegal. And besides, he would never charge Louis -- he enjoys it too much himself, especially when his mouth tastes like sugar and fruit syrup, and Louis’ dick tastes like a mixture of pre-cum and _boy_ , and the combination nearly drives Harry into a diabetic coma. It is pure bliss.

“My word, you are fantastic,” Louis pants out as he encourages Harry, tugging his hair every now and again as his knees go slightly weak below him.

“Do you know what’s fantastic,” Harry pulls off a moment to mutter. He untangles his fingers from around Louis’ belt loop and points toward where the rest of the boys are huddled around the bag. “Alcohol. I love that stuff,” he proclaims.

“Please don’t stop,” Louis whines, urging Harry to continue by pulling his head back in.

“Whoever left those bottles in the -- I want to kiss them,” Harry interrupts himself, leaning in to leave a trail of butterfly kisses up Louis’ shaft. “Their lips probably don’t taste as good as yours,” he whispers as he takes Louis’ head into his mouth again, moaning around it as Louis begins mumbling gibberish. “Or as good as this,” is the last thing he says before he’s taking Louis’ full length again, careful to avoid choking this time, which he would probably be embarrassed about if that were anywhere near the top of his priority list, but it’s not. The top of Harry’s priority list reads ‘make Louis come’ in thick, red marker, all in capital letters except the ‘i’, which is dotted with a giant red heart.

“Christ Harry, you’re gonna make me --” Louis chokes on his word as his body freezes and he comes into Harry’s mouth, sporadic and uncontrolled, thrusting into Harry’s mouth as he comes down, rough and quick.

Harry swallows effortlessly, only having a slight amount of trouble pushing himself up from his knees and slamming his lips into Louis’. Louis doesn’t taste like sugar and fruit syrup. Louis tastes rough; like beer and Jack Daniels, and the contrast turns Harry on to the point where he’s hard in his pants.

It reminds him of the nights his step dad would come home late after a night of playing pool at the bar and he’d smell of alcohol and cigarettes and men and whenever he’d come in to say goodnight Harry would bask in it; wasn’t quite sure why he enjoyed it so much. Just the thought of big burly strong men all marinating in a dive bar making bets over a rack of billiard balls.

He’d wanked off to the thought of it a few times when he was younger; not his step dad himself, but the men he was inevitably with, all big and strong and drunk.

Perhaps that should have been his first clue.

Anyway, that’s beside the point. The point is -- Harry’s not really sure, but his dick is hard and he wants Louis to touch it. Preferably with his mouth, but beggars can’t be choosers.

“I have fantastic plans for your dick when we get back to the cabin,” Louis tells him, smiling into another kiss and reaching down to palm Harry through his jeans.

Harry whines like a little kitten, desperate for attention and wanting to be loved. “Why not now?” he whispers, leaning in to nip at Louis’ neck. He feels Louis’ hands gently squeezing his sides, running his thumbs along the material of his sweatshirt, and he really wishes those layers of fabric weren’t there separating Louis’ skin from his. He is not very fond of any clothing at all, at the moment, to be fair.

“Because,” Louis whispers, “I think you oughta be lying down.”

Harry bites his lip as Louis tugs him in closer so their crotches are pressed together and he’s sure he’s imagining things because it was only two minutes ago that Louis came in his mouth, but if he didn’t know any better he would say that Louis already feels hard again. “Well maybe you could just tell me, then?”

“What, and ruin the surprise?” Louis questions. “Not a chance.”

Harry opens his mouth to speak again; maybe to beg for a long, detailed explanation of just what it is Louis plans on doing to him later, but he hasn’t got a chance because before any words come out, he hears bottles clattering around and muffled curses and suddenly the other three are rushing toward them.

“Just seen a flashlight, someone’s coming,” Liam scrambles about haphazardly, trying to hide any traces of their night, shoving the remains into the bags and slinging them over his shoulder. “Move, now,” he commands, and he’s off before Harry can even process what he’s said, and Zayn and Niall aren’t far behind, Zayn dragging poor Niall along as quickly as his feet will let him.

“No, no, no, no, no!” Louis exclaims, glancing around frantically as he zips up his jeans before grabbing Harry by the arm. “This wasn’t supposed to happen,” he groans, pulling Harry along.

Harry scratches his head for a moment, glancing around as if he’s forgotten something, but Louis doesn’t give him a chance to remember what because he’s pushing him along so quickly, and somehow Harry ends up with a leaf.

He hasn’t the slightest idea as to why he’s carrying this leaf and he certainly doesn’t remember picking it up but for some reason, at the current time and place, he feels his mission in life is to protect this leaf and keep it safe from harm so he carefully pulls it close to his chest as Louis pulls him along by the arm, that way it doesn’t fall to the ground and get crushed by a pair of unsuspecting, muddy sneaker on tomorrow’s hike.

“Come on, pick up the pace,” Louis whispers harshly as he tugs Harry up the three stairs that lead to the porch in the front of their cabin. He rips the leaf from Harry’s grip and tosses it over the rail as he pops the door open, but Harry protests.

“Louis, _wait_ ,” he whines, pulling himself free of Louis’ grip and stumbling back down the stairs. He simply can’t leave this piece of foliage which has been put in his supposedly responsible care on the ground. He stares at the arrangement of leaves which has fallen next to their cabin through out the summer but he just can’t figure out which one is _his_ leaf; the one Louis’ chucked over -- Louis, who’s growing increasingly more impatient as Harry shuffles through them.

“What the fuck are you doing?” he wonders, aggravation clear and present in his tone. “Get inside, we’re gonna get in trouble.”

But Harry just can’t bring himself to leave the bloody thing so instead he just starts grabbing handfuls, that way there’s no second guessing himself and he practically has a fucking bush’s worth of leaves bundled in his arms by the time Louis hustles back down and grabs him by the collar of his t-shirt, more or less dragging him back up onto the porch and shoving him inside, quietly closing the door behind him.

“What the hell’s wrong with you?” Louis whispers harshly as he turns the light on, putting Harry into plain view, cowering in front of the door with about three dozen wet leaves bundled against his chest.

“You threw my leaf,” Harry states, confident in the validity of his argument.

“Who cares?” Louis seems dumbfounded. “We almost got caught because of you!”

It’s now that Harry starts feeling a bit embarrassed, staring down at the leaves he’s carrying. He walks over and drops them onto the desk that has yet to see any signs of usage from neither he nor Louis in the passing weeks. “I wanted it,” he explains, unable to grasp exactly why Louis can’t understand why this leaf was so important. In hindsight, he’s not exactly sure why he expects Louis to understand considering he doesn’t even understand himself, but still.

“It’s a fucking leaf, Harry, there are about eight thousand of them here, get over it,” Louis mutters grumpily, kicking off his shoes and climbing the ladder to his top bunk.

Harry frowns to himself as he watches Louis sink into the mattress because the top bunk hasn’t gotten any use in ages and he’s not used to sleeping with out Louis next to him.

But then he realizes maybe he doesn’t care anyway because Louis threw away his leaf and then made him feel really stupid about it so he’s mad at Louis. He doesn’t want to sleep with Louis tonight.

He doesn’t want to sleep with Louis ever, he decides.

 

* * *

 

The thought doesn’t last very long, he discovers, as he finds himself waking up missing the stomach and chest that he’s used to being pressed against his back when he wakes up, and the heavy arm that drapes across his side. It only takes him a minute for the splitting headache to set in, and then another minute or two to remember the reasoning for the lack of body in his mattress next to him this morning.

He and Louis had an argument.

And while this leaves a slightly sour taste in Harry’s mouth, _they had an argument._ Their _first_ argument as a, dare he say, _couple_ , and Harry sees this as a milestone of sorts. And considering it was over a leaf, he’s feeling fairly confident that Louis probably isn’t still mad at him. He knows he’s certainly not still mad at Louis and he literally rolls his eyes when he spots the pile of leaves sitting on the desk across from him. What in the hell was he thinking.

“Louis?” he asks quietly, unprepared for the amount of pain that shoots through his head with these tiny two syllables. He turns over to bury his face in his pillow.

“You’re awake?” Louis replies, and peeks over the edge of his bunk as if to double check; like hearing Harry say his name wasn’t confirmation enough.

Harry just nods, feeling Louis’ eyes on him.

Louis groans. “How do you feel?”

Harry truly does not think there are words. “Like someone’s cracked my skull open with a hammer and fed me really, really gone off food,” he mumbles sadly, trying his hardest to find some sort of relief by pulling his blanket over his head.

He can hear Louis climbing down the ladder and then he feels the edge of the mattress sink. “Do you remember anything?” he chuckles softly, reaching over to rub Harry’s head.

“Unfortunately,” he whispers, the sound of his own voice amplified to a volume level of about ninety seven. He’d appreciate if he could put the entire world on mute.

“You didn’t have a good time?” Louis wonders, stretching out next to Harry and reaching over him to rub his back. Harry would probably appreciate the gesture if he didn’t feel like he was about to empty the entire content of his stomach in about four seconds.

But the more he thinks about it, he supposes it really wasn’t all that bad. He at least enjoyed it while it was happening. The end of the night didn’t go over too well and as he’s just recently discovered, he’s not the biggest fan of hangovers, but he thinks maybe it was worth it. It was nice to finally fully let loose for once and just say whatever he wanted. He just hopes he didn’t say anything too out of line. He remembers it for the most part, but there’s bits that are blurry, and those are the bits that he worries about.

He pulls the blanket from over his head, squinting as the light pours into his eyes and smiles at Louis a little. “I had fun.”

Louis smiles, too. “So did I.”

Harry wonders why Louis seems so content when he feels as though someone is jack hammering away at his ear drums. “How do _you_ feel?”

“Not half as bad as you look,” he smirks, brushing some hair away from Harry’s forehead.

Even rolling his eyes hurts, and Harry forces them closed. “Did I make a fool of myself?” he asks quietly, hoping to God that even if he did, Louis will just lie and tell him no because he really doesn’t need this morning to get any worse. In hind sight he probably shouldn’t have asked.

“Nah,” Louis shakes his head, scrunching up his nose. “You’re cute drunk,” he offers. “Give good head, too.”

Christ. Harry had sort of forgotten about that, and suddenly the thought of _anything_ in his mouth is leaving him in search of a bucket. “I’m gonna be sick,” he clamps his hand over his mouth desperately, and Louis sighs, having known this moment would come sooner or later. He slides out of bed, offering a hand out to Harry.

“Come on, off to the toilets we go. Dress comfy, we may be there a while.”

It’s at this precise moment that Harry decides that he is never drinking again. Ever.

 

Harry thinks that he’s been hunched over the toilet far too long, Louis rubbing his back and not daring to leave his side the entire time, and at some point Niall takes residency in the stall next to them, Liam sailing in the same boat as Louis.

Harry hasn’t an idea what time it is but he’s surprised the alarm hasn’t gone off yet -- and God knows when it does he’ll probably dig a hole and bury his head underground -- but he thinks that just maybe whoever runs this bloody thing feels sorry for him and will leave him to a day of rest.

No such luck.

He and Niall share a long, drawn out groan as the trumpet starts blaring through the campground. Harry presses his forehead against the cold porcelain of the toilet seat which is really, truly the very last place he would ever choose to touch with bare skin, but at this point he truly does not give a fuck. He would rather die than stand up and walk out of the toilets, let alone go on a hike or play football.

He knows if he sits out sick it will more than likely raise suspicions, especially considering whoever it was in the woods last night already is suspicious to a certain extent, so he doesn’t really see that as an option. He lets Louis drag him along to the mess hall where everyone is gathered round preparing for the hike. Harry really wishes he was back in the toilets again.

In fact it’s only five minutes in before he’s keeling over behind a tree and heaving up whatever is left, and this is when Louis trails up behind him, resting a hand on the small of his back. “The consequences of a good time,” he sighs, bittersweet.

Harry just groans, straightening himself out and wiping his mouth with his sleeve. “I’m gonna die.”

Louis laughs at this, pulling Harry into a hug and kissing the side of his head. “You’re not gonna die,” he promises, running his hand along Harry’s back. “Come on, let’s get you a cup of tea.”

He starts to pull Harry off in the direction of what he recognizes to be the short cut he, Liam and Zayn used to get from the infirmary to the cafeteria and he’s really, really thankful that Louis finally seems to be noticing just how quickly he actually is deteriorating because he really doesn’t think he could last another minute. At this point he’s really not sure whether or not he cares if he gets caught; he would probably rather spend the next two weeks locked in his cabin than walk through the woods for two hours feeling like this.

There’s another age group of kids eating breakfast in the cafeteria for which Harry is also thankful, this way they might at least blend in, and when he takes a seat at the most secluded, quietest table in the place -- which still isn’t as quiet as he hoped, considering all the twelve year old laughter roaring about -- Louis goes off to find them some tea, and Harry rests his head on the cool surface of the table and lets out a sigh of relief. This is at least a little better than being outside in the sweltering heat climbing up mountains and -- okay, the thought is making him queasy again. It feels nice here, that’s the point.

“So,” he feels the weight of the table shift as Louis slides into the seat across from him, placing his cup in front of him. “Do I get to steal any more firsts from you or are you caught up at this point?”

Harry blushes slightly as he straightens himself out, bringing his cup to his mouth. He takes a sip and lets out a sigh. “I’ve got to be honest with you, I think there should be some kind of rule against taking the mick out of me ten minutes past me being sick in the toilet. Especially considering you’re the one who’s put me in this situation,” he smiles into his cup as he takes a second sip.

“Hey,” Louis holds his hands up in defense. “I put the bottle in your hands. I didn’t make you drink the whole thing.”

Harry reddens as he pouts. “You’re supposed to take care of me,” he explains quietly, trying his very hardest to look so cute that Louis can’t help but feel guilty.

“It could have been worse,” he points out, “you could be Niall.”

Harry thinks that Louis has a point. He absently wonders if Niall has collapsed by now.

“Besides,” Louis continues, lowering his voice as he leans closer to Harry. “I planned on taking _very_ good care of you once we got back to the cabin...”

Harry’s face flushes and he bites his lip in an effort to hold back a smile. He briefly remembers Louis discussing this before their chat got cut short by Liam’s frantic warning call. “Yeah?” he asks quietly.

Louis shrugs. “That was before you compromised blowing our cover for a leaf.”

Harry actually face-palms at this one, letting out a long groan as he decides that he never wants to be reminded of this incident again. “We didn’t get caught though, did we?” he says smugly, to which Louis shakes his head.

“You’re right. I suppose I still owe you, then.”

Harry grins. “Do I get to choose this time?” he wonders.

“I suppose thats only fair.”

They spend the rest of the afternoon taking turns giving each other massages, pressing lovebites into each other’s skin and sucking each other off. Harry thinks if there’s any good way to hang tight through his very first hangover, this is it.

He absently wonders how much trouble they’ll be in tonight for running off during activities but it’s pretty much the very last thought on his mind as Louis’ fingernails dig into his thighs.

 

* * *

 

When they’re all called to an assembly that night, Harry wonders if this is it. He wonders if he and Louis are going to be called out in front of the entire campgrounds and publicly humiliated, left to be taunted for their last week and a half here. He thinks it will have been well worth it, but it’s still not necessarily desirable.

This isn’t like all the other assemblies or meetings that have been called -- this seems, well. To put it plainly, it’s a bit scary. There’s no music playing in the background, no friendly chatter, no annoying counselor jumping around atop a table waiting for people to pay attention.

Instead, the room is entirely silent as a ridiculously intimidating man -- an older man, that Harry only faintly remembers seeing on his first day here -- paces back and forth. This is who Harry assumes to be the superintendent, and is sincerely beginning to hope that this isn’t all because of he and Louis. He’s going on about how he takes pride in his camp, and how he expects the camp goers to, as well, and Harry’s too busy playing out scenarios in his head of what will become of he and Louis if this really is about earlier to pay attention, but he’s ripped straight from his thoughts when he hears, “somebody broke the rules.”

This is it. He and Louis are going to get it. He doesn’t know why this required the entire campgrounds’ company but that _must_ be what this is about --

“ _Last night_."

Harry swallows hard. He thinks his life may have just flashed before his eyes. Skipping out of activities -- that doesn’t sound so bad now, he could handle getting in trouble for that. He thinks maybe even his mum could understand that. But drinking in the middle of the woods past curfew -- he doesn’t even want to know his fate. Not here or at home. He would rather dig a hole in the ground and stay there for a few weeks instead, at least until it all blows over.

He has a feeling this time, he has royally screwed up.

Not just him -- Louis has tensed up to his side and he can see Liam burying his face in his hands a few seats down.

The man stops pacing and walks a few steps away to the table nearby and reaches into a bag. He pulls out a bottle; a bottle that immediately, Harry finds himself all too familiar with. _His_ bottle -- the bottle _he_ left behind.

He’s about to be sick.

“This was found in the woods last night. As you all know, alcohol is strictly prohibited on the campgrounds, considering you’re all minors. If anyone would like to come forth and confess, your punishment will be far less severe than it will be when we do find out.”

Considering the bottle could literally have belonged to anyone, Harry isn’t too concerned as the five of them stay quiet, staring down into their laps, careful not to draw suspicions, and when the superintendent says, “all right,” Harry lets out the biggest breath of relief he can muster. It’s over and they haven’t gotten caught.

“We’ll have no choice but to search all the cabins for questionable substances while you all stay here.”

A round of impatient groans sounds around the tables, but Harry doesn’t think he’s ever been so relieved. Maybe he’ll be home free. Maybe it will all be fine. Maybe his mum wont find out afterall. He finally starts to relax -- they don’t have anything to worry about, unless lube is considered a questionable substance, and then -- it hits Harry like a ton of bricks.

_Froggy._

While perhaps not a questionable substance, Harry is fully aware that there has to be some kind of rule against harboring the camps inhabitants in one’s cabin against it’s will and suddenly his stomach lurches.

He knows it’s silly and he knows he rolled his eyes at Louis when he first introduced the little bumpy thing to their cabin, but he’s like their child now. He’s a part of the family. Harry’s not sure just what he would do if little Froggy got tossed back out into the wild, no longer under their watchful eye.

Soon though, this thought is abandoned when he notices Liam practically having a fucking meltdown a few seats over.

He was the one who gathered up the rest of the bottles when they heard someone coming. They’re in _his_ cabin.

This is not good. This is seriously, seriously not good. Harry doesn’t even know what kind of not good it is; he’s never gotten in trouble here before, but he’s positive that it’s definitely not going to be good.

He can sense that their time to decide how to go about handling this situation is wearing thin as he hears Zayn and Liam harshly whispering at each other, and he turns to Louis. “We have to fess up, right? We can’t let Liam take the wrap.”

A look of panic strikes Niall’s face. “And get all five of us in trouble?”

Zayn leans across and smacks Niall in the arm. “Don’t be inconsiderate.”

Louis rolls his eyes. “Niall’s right,” he says quietly.

“No he isn’t,” Harry defends, whisper so low that it practically blends in with the rest of the conversation swirling around the cafeteria. “We were all there, we all deserve whatever it is we’ll get handed to us.”

“I’m sure whatever it is it won’t be that bad,” Louis adds.

“Are you listening to yourself?” Zayn argues. “Could you be any more selfish?”

Liam huffs from the center of them all, frustration obvious in his expression. “They’re right. There’s no point all five of us getting in trouble. You lot just owe me for this one,” he decides.

Harry sighs regrettable relief as the cabin search commences. _He_ won’t be getting in trouble, but now Liam will, and it was his fault to begin with. He’s the one who left the bottle in the woods. He knew it wasn’t a leaf he’d meant to pick up. He knew he’d left something else. If only he could have remembered what it was at the time, rather than now when it’s already too late.

They sit and wait in silence, and eventually Liam is called to the superintendent’s office. They all give him a pat on the back as the cafeteria disperses and everyone goes on their way.

The thing is, they don’t expect the punishment to be _bad_. There’s only a week and a half left; maybe some extra cleaning duties or loss of privileges, but nothing horrible. That’s what they expect.

But when Harry and Louis get called to the superintendent’s office, Liam’s already gone. Gone. Not from the office. _From the campgrounds_. Literally actually gone, not coming back and it’s happened so fast that they didn’t even get to say goodbye. Blasphemy, Harry thinks. And perhaps if he wasn’t so nervous around authority figures, he would express this. He gives this man a hard, long scolding in his head about being a fun ruiner.

After a long speech about why it’s immoral and wrong to hold wildlife captive, Froggy is released back into the wild and Harry and Louis are let off with a warning, retreating back to their cabin which feels about a dozen times emptier with out their beloved frog, but Harry has other things playing on his mind, namely Liam's absence.

“I’m sorry Louis. I mean it. This is all my fault,” he tries. “I should have been more careful.”

Louis sighs; lets out a huff of frustration. “It’s not your fault, stop blaming yourself. We’ve only got a week and a half left anyway.”

“It was my bottle, though,” Harry argues. “I left it there. And if I hadn’t no one would have ever found out about what we did.”

Louis flings himself onto Harry’s bed and sighs casually, as if they’ve just been to a meeting to discuss the weather or the god forsaken cafeteria options, not that his best mate has only being kicked off the bloody campgrounds. “Well they did, no use in carrying on about it.”

Harry’s face scrunches up in confusion; Louis and Liam are best friends. This isn’t making sense to him. “Why are you acting like you don’t even care?”

He shrugs; lets out a huff like he’s bored of the conversation and crosses his leg over the other. Harry thinks he looks like he should be disinterestedly flipping through a magazine. “I just don’t see the point in beating yourself up over something that’s done with. He’s a big boy, he’ll be okay. Why are you so hung up?”

Harry takes a few steps toward his bed and sits on the corner of his mattress, fumbling with his hands in his lap for a moment before debating whether it’s even worth arguing about this. It really isn’t any of his business, but it’s just a slightly heartless side of Louis that he hasn’t been exposed to before and he can’t help but feel slightly unsettled. He’s not really sure they’re on the same page at the minute; perhaps not even in the same book. “I care because it’s my fault. And you should care because he’s your friend.”

Louis shrugs, rolling onto his side like he’s finished; fancies taking a nap instead. “Well I don’t.”

Harry’s slightly taken aback at how standoffish Louis’ being; perhaps he should just drop the subject because Louis clearly doesn’t want to talk about it any longer. He clears his throat before standing and quietly tacking on, “I would hope that if it was me in that situation, you would.”

Louis’ silent for a moment, completely still. Harry actually thinks he has bloody gone and fallen asleep mid conversation for a moment, until he says, “Of course I would. Because you’re you.”

While Harry feels this should make love and admiration bubble up in his stomach, he’s surprised to feel something completely different; on the complete opposite end of the spectrum. It’s...mild _anger_ , almost, and it takes him a moment of thought to realize where it’s even coming from.

“I never asked for you to care about me more than your friends, Louis," he says, and this causes Louis to turn over and face him with a puzzled expression on his face. “All it’s caused is problems. Zayn spent half the summer despising me and now Liam probably does too.”

“So now you’re mad at me for liking you again?” Louis asks bemused, sitting up and propping himself on his elbow.

Harry sighs. That wasn’t exactly how he planned it to come across, but he supposes that is sort of the problem at hand here.

Louis chuckles sarcastically, like he’s done trying to figure Harry out. It makes Harry shrink a little; he never meant to make him angry. “I don’t understand what you want from me Harry, and I don’t see what’s so horrible to you about liking someone so much that you care more about them and how they feel than someone they’ve known for years. I don’t understand why you’re mad at me for that. I know you’re not used to it but I _actually_ care for you. I wish you’d just let me.”

Harry clears his throat, completely stuck on how to respond, mostly because what Louis’ just said is kind of huge to him, silly as it may be, and he doesn’t want to stand in the center of the room like a knob while he tries to process it all. Instead he just shakes his head. “No, I’m not mad. Sorry for upsetting you, I didn’t mean to,” he says quietly, and before he has a chance to catch Louis’ reaction, he’s heading for the door.

He doesn’t exactly know where he’s headed, he just feels it’d be best if he removed himself from the situation before he says something he regrets or Louis says something that he doesn’t want to hear. He absently finds his feet bringing him in the direction of his tree with out even realizing, but before he gets there he bumps into -- quite literally -- a familiar face, and makes a mental note to watch where he’s walking.

“You all right?” Niall laughs and wonders quizzically. Perhaps the reality of Liam being gone hasn’t quite set in for Niall, because he doesn’t seem very bothered, either. It _is_ only ten days, and maybe Harry’s just feeling a bit guilty, but he was sort of expecting everyone to hate him for this and so far that’s not how it’s panning out.

“I’m fine, why wouldn’t I be?” Harry wonders, eyebrows furrowing together as he stares down at his shoes, kicking a nearby pebble.

“Just seem a bit out of it,” he shrugs casually, slapping a hand to Harry’s shoulder. “Thought maybe you had a bad encounter with the lasagna again,” he laughs to himself.

Harry chuckles absently and uncomfortably, not really paying enough attention to what Niall’s saying to actually know what he’s laughing about.

“I heard about Froggy," he offers sympathetically. “I’m sorry for your loss."

Harry offers a brief awkward laugh. It’s not that he doesn’t appreciate the effort that Niall’s making, but there are slightly bigger things playing on his mind right now, mainly consisting of his fight with Louis and if he’s entirely honest there are about sixteen other things he can think of off the top of his head that he’d rather be doing right now than talking to Niall about lasagna and frogs.

Niall pulls back a moment, giving Harry a quick once over before squinting his eyes in suspicion. “Sure you’re okay?”

“Oh, fuck, I dunno, I have to go speak to my tree,” he mutters, and the look he receives from Niall suggests that he’s fully convinced that Harry’s flown right off his rocker; probably will go and warn Louis that he’s gotten himself involved with an absolute nutter, which Harry doesn’t entirely disagree with, but Louis is slightly more insane than he is so he can’t really see him minding much.

He only waits a second for Niall’s response, which clearly isn’t long enough considering Niall’s still staring at him like he’s grown a second head, before swiftly turning and walking off, pace brisk in hopes of not being interrupted yet again.

He slumps down once he makes it to the familiar shady spot under his trust tree, shirt riding up against the trunk as he pulls his knees into his chest, using them as arm rests as he picks apart a piece of grass.

He tries not to think for a while; wants to clear his head, but the same sinking feeling keeps coming back, and the most unsettling part is that he still doesn’t know where it’s coming from.

He’s fucked up, a little bit. Not hugely, but he’d still qualify it as a fuck up. He’s upset Louis which is just about the last thing he ever wanted to do, and pushed him away; made him feel like his loyalty wasn’t appreciated, and it is.

That doesn’t change the fact that he still stands by what he said, though. It feels lovely to be put first; to feel wanted and needed. It feels better than he ever thought it could. But still, surely it’s not a crime to encourage Louis to keep his friends’ feelings in mind, too. The main problem is just that he’s never seen a flaw in Louis before; has always admired pretty much everything he’s ever done or said, completely convinced that Louis was perfect and could do no wrong. Of course that’s silly, but that’s still how it felt. And now, for the first time, he actually finds himself upset with Louis for something, and it just feels so _different_.

He knows that’s okay. No one’s perfect; not even Louis, as close as he may be, and he also supposes that no two people can agree on every single issue, no matter how much they adore each other. He doesn’t even think he’s so much hung up on what it is they disagree on, it’s just the fact that finally they disagree on _something_ and he never really considered that as a possibility up until now.

He can make as many excuses as he wants, but he still thinks that even after everything, there might just always be a little tiny part of him that refuses to believe that Louis could ever be interested in him. It just doesn’t seem to make sense, but yet it’s unfolding in front of his eyes; it has been all summer, and he’s _felt_ it, has literally felt Louis’ mutual adoration, when they’re alone in bed at night and kissing each other soft and slow and when Louis has his little soft and serious moments, he can feel it.

He’s been through billions of scenarios in his head. Maybe this entire time Louis’ just been winding him up and is planning to humiliate him on the very last day by telling him that he’s never been interested and it’s all been one huge elaborate prank. This is maybe one of Harry’s biggest fears, but he knows that's irrational and stupid.

He knows that Louis must feel _something_. And he can try and sabotage himself by trying to convince himself that he doesn’t feel anything for Louis or by finding silly things to get mad at him over, like this, just so that way in the end he doesn’t look like a fool.

But the truth is, Harry thinks that maybe even if he does end up a fool, it will have all been worth it. He’s never been so happy in his entire life, and for once, he’s just going to accept the fact that maybe he _is_ good enough. Louis _does_ really fancy him. Louis _does_ genuinely care for him more than he cares for his own friends. Harry doesn’t understand _why,_ but maybe for once he won’t try to understand why. Maybe he’ll just let it be. Maybe, for the first time in as long as he can remember, something seems too good to be true but it’s _not_. This _is_ true.

He and Louis have merely days left here, and he’ll be damned if they both spend it caught up on one silly argument, stemmed from Harry’s irrational insecurities.

It doesn’t change the fact that Liam won’t be here for the rest of the summer, but nothing will. Louis’ right, he supposes; it’s done with, and feeling sorry won’t change anything.

 

“Louis?” Harry says quietly as he makes his way into the cabin, closing the door behind him. He stands in front of it, hands hooked behind his back, waiting for Louis to acknowledge him before going any further.

He turns around; pauses folding some laundry which Harry doesn’t think he’s ever seen Louis do before; usually he just tosses them into the closet in a big wrinkled mess. “Hey,” he says casually, like nothing ever happened, and Harry almost wants to do the same. Maybe if he ignores it, it’ll be like it never happened. He clears his throat.

“What’s up?” he wonders as he makes his way over to his lumpy bed that he’s somehow grown to love. He sits on the edge and picks at the seam of his duvet.

Louis shrugs, back turned to Harry but he doesn’t say anything; just continues folding his clothes that probably aren’t even clean.

Clearly, ignoring it is not going to cut it. “I’m sorry,” he says absently, eyes focused down on his blanket.

Louis pauses, turns to glance at Harry and then turns back around, continuing. “For what?”

Harry sighs a huff of frustration. Leave it to Louis to make things a million times more difficult than they have to be. “You know what I mean,” he says quietly, waiting a few seconds before he continues. “You were right. Maybe I am...scared, a little bit,” he pauses, but Louis doesn’t say anything. “I’ve never liked someone as much as I like you, I’m not really familiar with how all this works...”

“Well I’ll tell you one thing,” Louis turns around, hands on his hips. “Resenting the fact that I fancy you back isn’t quite how it works.”

Harry falls back on his bed, spreading his arms above his head, and Louis slides onto the bed next to him. “I don’t resent it,” he says, looking up into Louis’ eyes. “It’s nice.”

“But?” Louis questions, wondering where this is headed.

“I don’t know,” Harry shrugs to his best ability in his horizontal position, pulling Louis’ hand to rest on his stomach and tangles their fingers together. “I guess I just feel like, sometimes I’m in the way. Like I’m intruding. And I just don’t really get why you don’t mind that -- other than that you fancy me. I just don’t really understand why you _do_ , I guess,” he explains somberly, eyes fixed on Louis’ jagged fingernails. “I’m really not worth all the trouble I’ve caused. I’m nothing special, really; not compared to you.”

Louis smiles down at Harry, who’s curls are all fussed up above the bed spread, cheeks red from the summer heat. He rubs his thumb along Harry’s and reaches up with his other hand to brush Harry’s hair away from his forehead. “You’re special to me,” he offers, which brings a different redness to Harry’s cheeks. “And you’ve not caused any trouble,” his tone lightens, and he brings his hand up to ruffle Harry’s hair. “Shit happens, they’ll be fine. Talk to me when you’ve managed to get archery suspended for everyone the entire summer for shooting someone in the foot.”

Harry chuckles, smiling as he covers Louis’ hand with his free one. “You think Liam hates me?” he asks quietly.

“Of course he doesn’t, don’t be silly,” Louis replies, lifting himself up off the bed to gather his folded laundry and chuck it back into the closet in yet another big wrinkly heap. “I’m sure the blame will somehow come back to me anyway -- it always does.”

Harry laughs. “You’re lucky it’s hard to stay mad at you.”

“It’s got it’s perks,” he admits. “Where’d you run off to anyway?” he wonders, eyebrows crinkling together as he slides into the desk seat, turning sideways to face Harry.

“Just -- no where,” he shakes his head, remembering his last encounter attempting to explain his tree. “No where.”

“Come on, you’re holding out on me,” Louis stands, walking over and poking Harry in the stomach where his shirts riding up.

“I’m not, honest,” he tries, but this doesn’t stop Louis from straddling his thighs, fingers perfectly positioned to tickle at his waist.

“I’ll do it, don’t think I wont.”

Harry rolls his eyes, turning onto his side in a way which makes Louis flop over next to him. “It’s just a tree, nothing special.”

Louis nods in understanding. “You often frequent trees?”

Harry huffs, this being the precise reason he didn’t want to tell Louis to start with. “It’s just the only quiet spot I can find in this bloody place.”

Louis reaches out to fuss with the collar of Harry’s shirt. “You care to show me?”

“Not particularly,” he admits.

“Well I’m offended and I expect that you’ll show me anyway,” Louis offers in response.

“Have it your way then,” Harry sighs, rolling out of bed and waiting for Louis to follow.

 

After the brief trek down to Harry’s ever familiar spot, Louis blinks a few times, clearly unimpressed, and then offers a shrug. “It’s...charming?”

Harry huffs, walking over to slide down against it familiarly. “I told you it was nothing, you insisted.”

“Oh, Harry,” Louis begins as he takes a few steps closer and examines the inscriptions carved into the bark. “You absolute sap.”

“Don’t make me sick,” Harry rolls his eyes. “That’s not why I like it.”

Louis ignores this and runs his fingers down the trunk. “Well, you know what they say anyway, when in Rome...”

Harry glances toward Louis to see if he’s actually being serious and when he realizes that he is, he scrunches up his face and turns his head back to look out at the lake. “We aren’t writing our names on there.”

“Why not?” Louis questions, kicking about in the grass looking for a stone.

“Because it’s stupid.”

“I think it’s romantic,” he flutters his eyelashes, and at this Harry half swoons and half feels the urge to vomit.

“You’re ridiculous,” is all he says.

“And you love it.”

Try as he may, Harry can’t argue with that.

 

* * *

 

The last week of camp is eventful. This only makes him wish Liam was still here. It’s filled with barbecues and fun events and camp fires and as much as Harry really tries his hardest to just sit back and enjoy it, the same thought is still at the back of his mind. Each day that passes is one day closer to the day he has to say goodbye to Louis.

“Have I ever told you about the time I saw a yeti in those woods?”

A round of groans sounds from the boys sitting around the fire and Zayn rolls his eyes. “Here we go again.”

“I’m serious!” Louis claims definitively, seeming incredibly awestruck that anyone could possibly in a million years think that he’s lying.

“Are you sure it wasn’t that kid from cabin nine? He’s pretty hairy,” Niall adds nonchalantly, wincing as he pulls his hand away from his marshmallow which is clearly too hot to be handling. Bless him.

“No, no, it was definitely a yeti,” Louis stands strong in his argument, ripping open another bag of marshmallows.

Harry reminisces over the past couple months here. He thinks back to the first night they were gathered around a campfire, talking about all the same things. The summer seems to have come full circle and despite not wanting to leave Louis, he’s _okay_.

For once he feels _good_ about it.

He’s not second guessing himself, wishing he’d done something differently. Regretting every word that’s come out of his mouth. He doesn’t think too hard about it. This summer made him _happy_ , and despite the little bumps in the road, he wouldn’t change a thing.

Harry doesn’t think he’s ever felt so satisfied.

 

* * *

 

August 15th.

Harry can’t help his eyes from falling on the calender every time he scans the room. They always wander back to the August 15th spot. Tomorrow.

The day he goes back home, back to his old life, back to his old friends, back to reality. He’s spent the morning packing and as much as he’s been thinking about it, it still hasn’t set in yet. He doesn’t feel ready.

He takes a deep breath and sinks into his mattress, realizing that tonight will be the last time he sleeps on this poor excuse for a bed.

“Hey.”

He looks toward the open door to find Louis leaned in the doorway, offering a sad grin when he notices Harry staring at the calender.

“Hi,” Harry offers back quietly. Part of him doesn’t even want to speak because it feels like each word that comes out of his mouth is closer and closer to the last one he speaks here. It seems so silly, even to him, especially considering how much he fussed and moaned about coming here, but now, he doesn’t want to leave.

“Are you all right?” Louis wonders, taking a few steps toward Harry.

He nods; bites the inside of his lip and swallows before standing up. “What’s up?”

“Come here,” Louis holds his hand out.

“Where are we going?” he wonders as he slips his hand into Louis’, allowing himself to be lead out the door.

“You’ll see.”

A couple moments later and here they are, back at Harry’s tree. Harry glances back over at Louis, wondering why he’s brought him here, but when he sees Louis slip a pointed stone from his pocket, he understands.

“Louis, no --” he begins, but Louis shushes him and holds out the stone.

It’s so stupid. So fucking stupid. Harry almost wants to roll his eyes and throw the god damn stone into the lake that’s shining on Louis’ stupid face. And maybe the stupidest thing of all is that he feels his throat tightening a little, and it takes a little more than he’s willing to admit not to let a tear or two fall.

He never pictured himself getting so attached to this place, or maybe just the memories he and Louis shared here. It’s such a bittersweet feeling that tomorrow is their last day, because he wants to go home and see his friends and family but at the same time, he’s not ready for the summer to be over. He’s not ready to go home. He’s not ready to find a new tree to sit under. He’s not ready to leave Louis.

He wishes he could have a little longer. Mentally curses his parents for sending him here in the first place; at least then he wouldn’t know what he was missing out on.

“Maybe you should do it,” Harry’s voice is low as he holds the stone out to Louis, face scrunched up as he bites the inside of his lip.

Louis’ still grinning, nose crinkled and eyes squinting from the sun. He shakes his head. “We can do it together.”

This time Harry _does_ roll his eyes, but Louis just smiles wider, whites of his teeth on display as he grabs Harry hand and guides it to the tree. Shakily, the pair of hands presses the stone against a bare spot on the bark, and carves it’s first slanted line; the start of and L. Then a +. Then an H; that one’s a little crooked and Harry and Louis both let out a chuckle at how lop sided it’s turned out.

Then the heart around the letters; Louis’ hand is warm over the back of Harry’s and the stone skips in the bark every once and a while, leaving the heart a little jagged and line-y.

Harry doesn’t know what will happen when he leaves, and that scares him a little. Maybe just the thought alone of leaving Louis is what scares him the most, but also what’ll happen when he’s back with his old friends. Who he’ll be. What he’ll act like. What he’ll tell them; especially if he’ll tell them about Louis. If he and Louis will talk every day like they promised. He doesn’t know, and he doesn’t really wanna think about it. Right now, all he wants to do is take advantage of the time with Louis he has left, cuddling him and kissing him and telling him how glad he is they met. And then cringing for being so sentimental but not being able to help it and relishing the fact that Louis doesn’t care.

The fact that Louis never cares.

From the time he nearly had a heart attack over a strand of seaweed to the time he was caught off-guard mid blowjob by a woodland creature to the time he drunkenly dedicated his sole purpose in life to a leaf, he always seems to make a fool of himself and Louis always doesn’t seem to care.

Harry thinks that’s what makes Louis so special.

He’s not sure there are words to explain how much Louis means to him. He feels like even if he called Louis up twenty times a day and told him he still wouldn't understand just how much he means to him, but for now, all he can manage is a quiet “thank you”, and a hug, and Louis seems to understand just fine.

 

* * *

 

After the final campfire that night, which is full of long, drawn out sappy speeches which only tug on Harry’s heart strings a little bit more than he’s willing to admit, he and Louis sneak off to the dock on the lake, bare feet skimming over the water, fingers tangled in each others, Harry’s head resting happily on Louis’ shoulder.

“You know what’s weird?” Louis wonders, kicking about and making soft little ripples in the water.

“You, for starters,” Harry laughs quietly to himself, sighing contently as Louis’ grip on his hand tightens.

“Well I won't disagree with you there. But no, that isn’t what I was going to say,” he explains.

“What’s weird?”

“I only met you this summer,” he starts, “but I can’t imagine another summer with out you.”

Harry can’t help the smile that rips across his face, nuzzling his head into Louis’ neck a bit more. “You know what’s weird to me?”

“Hm?”

“I thought coming here would be the end of the world,” he says. “And now I don’t want to leave.”

Louis smiles; turns his head and cranes his neck to kiss Harry’s forehead. “Things will be okay when you go home.”

“I know they will,” Harry nods. For once he’s not thinking about how he’ll act or if he’ll tell his mum or if his friends will notice things have changed. He’s just worried about not feeling Louis’ fingers tangled with his, not feeling Louis’ chest lifting and falling against his back, not hearing Louis’ voice chattering about early in the morning, and not having Louis to kiss or cuddle whenever he’s in the mood to. Harry thinks that the moment Louis is no longer in his presence, his life will be boring again. He can’t imagine the days going by with out Louis after spending literally every waking moment together the entire summer. He doesn’t want to. “I’m just really gonna miss you,” he says quietly.

“You don’t have to miss me,” Louis promises. “I’m not going anywhere. Well,” he pauses. “I mean I’m going back to my house in Doncaster,” he corrects himself. “But you know what I mean.”

Harry just nods, crossing his ankle over Louis’ and pulling it closer to him. “I hope that’s true.”

Louis turns to Harry, tilts his chin up and smiles warmly as their eyes meet. “Would I lie to you?”

Harry considers this a moment before shrugging. “Probably.”

Louis snorts and pushes himself off the dock, holding a hand out for Harry to grab onto. “Shall we retreat for the night?”

Harry sighs, grabbing onto Louis and allowing himself to be pulled up. “I suppose so.” He offers a quick goodbye to the lake but it isn’t overly sentimental.

He and Louis have more than taken advantage of the last week they’ve had together, almost always choosing to spend any ounce of free time sucking each other off or having sex multiple times a day, but Harry feels like tonight will be different, because tonight is the _final_ time, for a very _long_ time, anyway, and he wants to make sure it lasts. Wants to remember every detail. This night as much as the first night, if not more.

So when Louis slams the door closed behind them and pins Harry up against it, kissing him almost harder than his poor little lips can handle, he shuts his brain off and just _lives in the moment_. He tends to have a hard time doing that, because usually when he and Louis are partaking in anything remotely sexual the only thought that can cross Harry’s mind is how very fortunate he is crossed with slight doubt that it’s actually happening. Tonight he closes all that out.

Louis nips at his neck a bit, the cause of a few more than likely marks tomorrow morning, and grows increasingly frustrated with the lack of skin he has access too. He pulls Harry’s shirt over his head, kissing down his chest to his stomach before he’s on his knees, right in front of Harry’s crotch, and he’s quick to pull down his trousers too, too much passion and lust built up to take it slow.

Harry might ask him to relax a bit if he wasn’t feeling just as desperate.

He hungrily takes Harry’s dick into his mouth with out a second thought, bobbing his head as he works his tongue, and Harry lets out a long, drawn out moan as Louis’ works at him, tossing his head back so he’s anchored against the door.

“Louis...” he manages, breath short and uneven. “ _Bed_.”

As much as he’s enjoying this, he would rather not prematurely come and lie flaccid whilst Louis gets off beside him, or rather _inside_ of him, so he figures it’s best to end it before it’s too late, but the thought is abandoned as Louis’ pushing him onto the bed, climbing on top of him and going straight back to working on his neck, grinding his clothed crotch against Harry’s unclothed crotch, which creates an unspeakable friction that, in combination with Louis’ hot lips on his neck, sends Harry into frenzied thoughts about how their should be monuments built to Louis’ lips and hands and dick and everything because they are fucking _fantastic_.

It’s all just fucking fantastic.

So fantastic that Harry is beyond words at this point, and all he can do is let out choppy little noises and needy breaths as he pulls Louis’ trousers off, and then his shirt and eventually his boxers.

Louis’ kissing him again, hard and rough as he reaches under the pillow for the bottle of lube they keep there and a condom, and as he fusses with them, he mutters choked words onto Harry’s lips between kisses. “You’re the best I’ve ever had,” he declares, “I mean that.” Another kiss. “So fucking good, Harry.”

Harry wants to say the same, but considering Louis is the _only_ one he’s ever had sex with, he feels that it goes with out saying. “Want it so bad,” he manages to choke out, Louis’ finger tips teasing him agonizingly, slipping in and out the tiniest bit, making Harry’s hips jut up from the bed uncontrollably. “ _Please_.”

Harry looks at Louis through drooped eyelids. His hair is sweaty, his face is flushed and his lips are red and plump, chest heaving with excitement as he stares straight back. Harry isn’t sure a more beautiful boy exists in the world.

Louis situates himself between Harry’s knees, spreading his legs apart and lifting Harry’s hips from the bed. “I’ll never get tired of that face,” he breathes out, reaching forward to run a finger across Harry’s lips before he’s centering himself and pushing in, and in an instant Harry’s overtaken with the constant sensation over and over and over again.

Every single day, every single breath, every single word spoken, every single kiss, every single lingering glance, it feels like it’s all been leading up to this, and Harry feels so overwhelmed with emotions that he doesn’t know what to do with himself. He feels like he may actually explode. Or implode. Whichever would be less messy.

All he can manage to do is involuntarily thrust his hips up to keep rhythm with Louis, and he’s still not sure that counts because he’s not controlling that either.

He’s never met someone who makes it so easy for him to lose control, and the thought scares him, a little, but he thinks he likes it. With Louis, he doesn’t mind.

Louis seems to be feeling similarly, because he’s making these whiney moans in the back of his throat, burrowing his forehead in Harry’s chest and thrusting _so hard_ , and from Harry’s angle he can’t help but notice all of Louis’ muscles working, the way his chest rises and falls and the way that he gets sloppy with his pace every once in a while and has to collect himself to keep going.

They’re only sixteen and surely not overly experienced, but if Harry has any say in the matter, they’re pretty fucking good at this.

The entire summer is replaying in his head, over and over, the first moment he laid eyes on Louis, the first words they spoke, the first time they kissed; it’s all playing, spliced together like an old film on a projection screen in his mind, every happy memory and even the bad ones and it’s all building up, all overflowing. Everything he feels for Louis is just there. No airs and graces. It’s flat out fucking _on the table_. It’s honest and raw and real and Harry’s never been so sure in his life about any of it.

Louis is _amazing_. What they have is amazing. And Louis is _his_.

However, Harry is fully aware that all good things come to an end, and when he feels that familiar feeling bubbling up in his stomach, he has no control over containing it. He comes harder than he ever has, possibly in his entire life, in sync with Louis who seems to be on the same exact page.

It takes a few moments for them to catch their breath, and even then it’s difficult for Harry to open his mouth and speak. He reaches over; rearranges a piece of Louis’ hair and then lets his hand trail down to rest on Louis’ chest; right over his heart beat. “I’m so lucky I met you,” he says.

Louis looks over at him, chest still shaky and uneven, covering Harry’s hand with his own. He flashes his million dollar smile, eyes warm and full of adoration. “The pleasure's been all mine.”

 

* * *

 

Harry’s not sure he’s ever seen such a depressing site in his life.

All the cabins are empty; everyone’s scrambling around with their bags, waiting for their rides and saying goodbye to each other. This is actually it. It’s over. Just like that. Soon everyone will be back to their old lives, getting ready for the new school year with their friends from home and this place will be nothing but a distant memory.

After a long, sappy goodbye with what seems like an endless conversation about how eventful the summer was and countless promises to keep in touch with Niall and Zayn, Harry stands off to the side with Louis, silence between them while they both try to say what no amount of words will never be enough to explain.

He looks around at the wooden arches; the first ones he was greeted by when he first arrived, absolutely horrified to see the front of them, and now he’s just as horrified to see the back, knowing in just a short while he’ll be walking through them.

But that’s not really what matters. What matter is that the one moment he’s been dreading since the very first week he got here has finally arrived. Saying goodbye to Louis.

For some reason Harry’s mind wanders back to the night of the dance; when he and Louis were pressed close together on the dance floor, swaying to some cheesy song, and one line in particual seems to stick out in his head.

_You're not what I was after, but I'm happy with what I found. To dream of new beginnings, when the end is all around. You weren’t hard to find, you didn’t run and hide._

He’s not sure if that’s ever made more sense than it does right now.

“I love you.”

Harry nearly rolls his eyes. “Don’t say that, you do not.”

“But I do.”

“But you’ve hardly known me over two months.”

“Yeah? I like you more in the two months I’ve known you than in the first two months I’ve known anyone else. That must count for something.”

Harry can’t exactly argue with that. “Ditto,” he mumbles. He would worry about sounding lame if he wasn’t even more worried about concentrating on not getting choked up, because he’s really not far from full on bawling, and that might make him look even lamer than saying “ditto”.

Louis smiles; brushes his hand against Harry’s and then sticks it in his pocket. “I’ve got something for you.”

Harry’s face scrunches up, wondering what in earth Louis could possibly have for him. He hopes it isn’t another frog.

Thankfully, rather than a frog, Louis’ holding out a keychain, with green and purple beads and five white ones with black lettering on them, spelling out ‘H A R R Y’. He smiles, reaching out for it and examining it a moment before looking back to Louis.

“I made it the first week we were here,” he explained. “But Niall told me it was kind of weird. Guess I was getting a little bit ahead of myself,” he chuckles nervously, staring down at his feet, and Harry can’t help but smile at how endearing it is. “But I want you to have it.”

Harry tosses his arms around Louis’ neck, leaning in for a big sloppy kiss on the cheek. “Thank you. I love it.”

“Oh, it’s nothing, really,” Louis waves him off casually, offering a toothy grin as Harry clutches it with both hands.

Despite the forced humor Louis’ offering, the mood is still dim because this doesn’t change the fact that after today, there’s a possibility he may never even see Louis again.

They’re both silent for a moment before Louis reaches out and tangles both of his hands with each of Harry’s, keychain clutched between their left hands tightly. “Listen,” he begins, and if Harry didn’t know any better he might actually think that Louis’ getting a bit choked up, too. “Text me when you get home, okay?” he asks, and Harry nods.

“I will.”

“And I’ll call you tonight,” he promises.

Harry nods again, and this is the part where he has to stare at the ground because if he bites his tongue any harder it’s going to start bleeding. He needs to let at least a couple tears fall.

Louis tilts his chin up, smiling warmly before pressing a kiss to his lips. “Don’t forget about me, all right?”

Harry rolls his eyes, removing one of his hands from Louis’ to reach up and wipe away at the tears on his cheeks. As if he ever could. “Same for you,” is all he can manage, and Louis ruffles his hair before giving Harry’s hand a final squeeze, letting it, and the key chain grasped firmly inside of it, fall back to Harry’s side.

It’s only another minute or two before Harry sees his step dad’s car pull up, and with a final hug to Louis (and a ten trillionth goodbye), and a wave to Niall and then Zayn, to which he receives the most genuine smile he thinks he’s seen from Zayn all summer, he finally walks under those bloody arches, opens the door and slides in.

You live it, breathe it, everything is suddenly still...and it all seems to make sense. It’s over.

Harry doesn’t stop looking at his key chain the entire way home.

 

* * *

 

It takes a while to realize it but once he's home, Harry thinks he loves Louis too. He realizes he loves Louis too because Louis is almost all he thinks about; on the first day wonders if he's home yet and if he's hugging his family too and what he'll have for dinner and what time he'll call, and he finds himself spending every day after wondering many of the same things.

Even after his first day home; even after the first couple weeks, Harry still finds himself wondering what Louis is up to for a better ninety percent of the day, and this is when he realizes that surely he must love Louis too because if it hasn't worn off yet it isn't bound to for a very long time -- if it ever will. Every night he looks forward to Louis' phone call or FaceTime, and even when they aren't speaking on the phone it's still glued to Harry's hands at all times because they always text through out the day and even though it's not the same as actually _being_ together, it's the next best thing.

Maybe it’s just lust; maybe they’re just young and stupid. That doesn’t make Harry love it any less.

Harry's mum starts wondering who it is he's texting so much because he's on his phone ten times more than usual and she asks him; wonders who must be so important that Harry has to stay in contact with them the entire day. He says he's just catching up with his friends after being away all summer. He thinks one day he'll tell her; just not yet. Maybe when he visits Louis or Louis visits him, but for now Louis is his little summer secret, and he likes it that way.

The summer where the outside world hadn’t existed; where a day felt like a week, the accommodations were bad but the company made up for it, the raccoons were rampant, the waters were terrifying, the marshmallows were perfect and the dick tasted like popsicles.

Harry’s favorite summer of his life.

 

* * *

 


End file.
